


Green and Greenleaf

by Zeiphyx



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-04-07 23:53:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19095529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeiphyx/pseuds/Zeiphyx
Summary: A peaceful ride through Mirkwood turns ugly, leaving the life of its prince hanging precariously in the balance. Can Aragorn help a seriously injured Legolas to cling to life, or will all be lost? Legolas/Aragorn hurt/comfort, some angst and plenty of friendship/fluff to go around. Violence warning because rather safe than sorry - but it's not too intense.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Ao3! This is my first story here, originally posted on Fanfiction.net. This was written between 2015 and 2016 and was the first time I had posted a new story since 2005. This fic was written in its manuscript form back in 2005, and this is my attempt at turning it into something a little more decent and more befitting of my current writing level. The title for this is a reference to a saying that we have in the equestrian world: "Green and green makes black and blue," where "green" refers to an inexperienced horse or rider.

**Chapter One**

Grey-cloaked, he padded with feline stealth over the forest floor. His deft, effortless movements disturbed neither leaf nor twig, and all the while his keen senses analysed the sounds of the woodlands, constantly searching for anything that may signal the presence of danger. After all, this was Mirkwood, home to a plethora of mortal perils. But, it was his home, and all mortal perils aside, he was rather fond of it.

Hopping nimbly atop a moss-covered log, the elf paused and threw back his hood, exposing long flaxen hair. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply of the crisp, barely-dawn air. He lived for mornings such as this one. Birdsong drifted to his ears from the surrounding trees, juxtaposed against the sound of a forlorn cricket, the chorus of which was subtly punctuated with the buzz of insects and the soft rustlings of some small mammal foraging in the leaflitter. He could smell the earthy, musky scent of the forest: the warm dampness of fallen leaves beginning to rot and give way to scatterings of fungi; interspersed with the cool, minty scent of the fog that still hung in wisps between the trees. This was it - the quintessential, very life essence of all that Mirkwood and his home, and there was simply nothing quite like it anywhere else in Middle Earth; nowhere else he would rather be but here, in this moment.

Grinning, Legolas exhaled slowly, opened his eyes, and gave a short, sharp whistle. It was answered by a low whicker. There was the sound of snapping twigs, and a dun stallion pushed his way out of a nearby thicket, startling a flock of small birds from the undergrowth. They flew off in an angry cloud, all at once chirping profanities at the clumsy equine who had disturbed them. The horse shook his head, snorting, and made his way towards the elf. "Thank you, Tavaro." Legolas rubbed the centre of the stallion's forehead and picked a twig from the long black mane. "Stand." The elf placed his hands on the seat of the saddle, and with a last, fervent glance into the trees, he sprang nimbly onto the horse's back and pushed his feet into the stirrups. With a light squeeze of his rider's heels, the stallion stepped forward cautiously, selecting his footing with care so as to move as silently as possible over the leaflitter.

Some time later, Legolas's stomach gave a growl, and he realised how hungry he was. Tavaro seemed to echo his sentiments, and whickered, pawing the ground. Reaching down to his left, Legolas opened the saddlebag and retrieved a neatly wrapped parcel of waybread. Unwrapping it and popping a cake into his mouth, he dismounted. He opened the left saddlebag and removed a small cloth sack, at the sight of which Tavaro's ears pricked and his head stretched towards it, his upper lip extended and wiggling around in an attempt to grab the sack. "Tavaro, stand!" said Legolas sternly, and the stallion jerked his head backwards, rolling his eyes in frustration. "Stand," repeated the elf. Tavaro was young, only four years old, and it was imperative that he not be allowed to pick up bad habits which could fast become dangerous to his handlers. "Back," commanded Legolas, and, lowering his head and chewing submissively, Tavaro began to step backwards. "Thank you, Tavaro." Legolas smiled. "Stand." And he emptied the grain onto a large, flattened boulder, allowing Tavaro to approach and eat once he showed that he was waiting calmly.

Legolas sat down on the edge of the boulder and, removing the cake of lembas that he was holding in his mouth, took it in his hands and started to eat hungrily. Finishing his breakfast, he rose and bent, picking up Tavaro's hooves one by one, gently removing mud and stones from the grooves of their sensitive undersides. Engrossed in his task, he failed to see Tavaro's ear twitch nervously. The next thing, Legolas was slammed into the ground as a crow burst from the underbrush, causing the young horse to leap sideways, striking out blindly with both back legs as he did so, and catching Legolas with full force in the belly.

Legolas lay sprawled in the leaves, stunned and disorientated. His world was spinning and he felt numb all over. Over the ringing in his ears, he could make out the sound of galloping hoofbeats as his spooked mount fled, and it was only when the sudden pain assaulted his midsection that he understood what had happened. Legolas screwed his eyes shut as the pain wracked his body, and he desperately fought to draw breath. No sooner had he managed to inhale shakily, when he felt dread descend upon him: Tavaro may have spooked from the crow, but a mere bird would simply not have elicited the horse's flight. There must be something else. Blindly groping for his weapons, Legolas willed his confused and protesting body to stand, but it would not, choosing instead to curl itself into a ball and wrap its hands about its middle. He wondered anxiously what manner of fell beast had so alarmed Tavaro. He sensed he was about to find out.

The approach of heavy footsteps spurred a surge of adrenaline in the young elf, who, with a grunt of pain, was able to force himself to sit up. He felt nausea rising in the pit of his stomach, and fought the urge to vomit. _Curse his lack of focus! He would not be in this position if he had been more aware of his surroundings earlier._

"What have we here?" came a gleeful voice as an orc shambled into view, "An elfie? And wounded too!" Legolas gasped, and managed to grab hold of one of his white knives, pointing it at the creature with an arm that shook.

"Stay back, foul beast!" Contorting its face into something crudely resembling a smirk, the orc approached the elf and grabbed for his arm, however even in his weakened state, Legolas was too quick: the orc jumped backwards, black blood dripping from a deep cut in its arm. Not a serious wound, but enough to infuriate the creature.

"You! You will regret this!" it snarled. Not daring to get within striking range of the elf again, the creature somehow managed to heft the large boulder that Legolas had used for Tavaro's breakfast, and grinning wickedly, he hurled it at the elf's head.

_Move! Move! MOVE!_ Legolas had overbalanced from the act of swinging his blade at the orc, and he watched in horror as the boulder seemed to hurtle towards him in slow motion. _He had to MOVE._ And then the boulder came crashing down on his shins, sparing his head. He heard something go _crunch_ , and was unable to hold back a scream of agony. The orc took advantage of the situation, leaping onto the trapped elf and wrenching the knife from his grip, slicing deeply into Legolas's forearm with a hunting knife as it did so. The elf gasped as the orc's face was sprayed with crimson, and he knew that the artery had been opened. He frantically beat at the orc with his left arm, hoping that he could miraculously turn the tables. If he didn't, he was going to bleed out - and soon. Instead, he heard a loud _pop_ from his shoulder as the orc wrenched his arm away, and the elf cried out again as his dislocated arm flopped uselessly into the leaves. The orc ran its tongue along the wound, savouring the taste of fresh blood, and Legolas felt his consciousness fade as the orc paused and then abruptly bit down into the wound. This was it. This was how he was going to die.


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

"Legolas! Legolas! Gods, Legolas, stay with me!" _Silver blue eyes. World spinning. Eyes crinkle at the edges. Worried? Everything hurts. Eyes… Aragorn's? No. Where_ _am I?_ _Why does it hurt? It hurts so much. Something in my mouth. Sweet, something tastes sweet. Honey? Why is there honey? Make it stop hurting. Please make it stop._

"Must be… dead," Legolas muttered, and closed his eyes again. They were so incredibly heavy; he could not keep them open. He felt warm and sleepy, and felt himself drifting off.

Aragorn frowned, tucking the small glass bottle of honey into his pack. Eyes suddenly widening in alarm, he quickly tapped his friend's face and the elf's eyes opened once more.

"Nay, Legolas! You are not dead, but you are close. You need to stay awake, or I fear that you may pass beyond my help." Aragorn was breathing hard, as if after great exertion.

"But… Estel? How?" asked Legolas weakly, sounding as if he were speaking to himself.

"I heard screams nearby," said Aragorn, grimacing. "I could hear that they were not orcish, and I hurried to the source. Alas, I did not expect to find _you_ , with this… _thing_ …Your arm…" The Ranger faltered, not finding the words to describe the atrocity that he had witnessed. "You have not been out for long. I am just thankful that I found you when I did." Legolas still stared at the human blearily, struggling to comprehend. His mind was a fog of pain, but he felt his consciousness clearing slightly, and he noticed that, curiously, an orc lay slain across his chest, and his lower legs were pinned beneath a boulder. Seemingly oblivious to this, the Ranger held up the young elf's bloodsoaked right arm, applying his wadded up cloak to the underside of the elf's forearm. There was something wrapped tightly about his upper arm. A tourniquet? He was so exhausted…

"Legolas, who am I?" The Ranger unexpectedly asked.

"Aragorn… do you …jest?" Legolas frowned, opening his eyes and squinting at the Ranger. "I am… not in the mood for games." He just wanted to sleep, and he wished Aragorn would stop talking and allow him to.

"Aye, thank you Legolas." Aragorn could not help but smile slightly at Legolas's reaction to the bizarre question. "I cannot let you sleep right now, for you have lost too much blood." Aragorn was slightly heartened to hear strength returning to the elf's voice. It seemed the honey was doing its work and giving the Prince some much needed strength.

* * *

Every time Aragorn sensed Legolas drifting off, he would ask the young elf to answer a question. Other than annoying the elf, it served to keep him awake and interacting. After a time, he lifted the cloak from the elf's wound slightly. Peering at the bleeding wound, he grimaced. "Legolas, open your mouth." Pressing a cloth between the elf's teeth, he continued, "You will need this. The bleeding has slowed slightly, but I will need to stitch the wound to control it." Legolas grunted in acknowledgement, and gasped as he felt the needle pierce the edges of the wound. "I am deeply sorry, _mellon-nin_. It will be over soon, I promise." Aragorn stitched as fast as possible, striving to keep his hands steady, anxious to spare his friend any further pain. Legolas moaned, biting down on the cloth as hard as his strength allowed him. Between the stabs of the needle, he was starting to remember what had happened to him. He sighed as suddenly the memories came flooding in, and then winced as his belly protested at the movement. Aragorn frowned, and momentarily paused, looking at the elf in concern. "What is it?"

"It is… nothing. Worry not," said Legolas, still wincing. It was Aragorn's turn to sigh this time, and Legolas bit down into the cloth as the Ranger returned to his work.

"There, it is done," said Aragorn, binding the wound tightly and cautiously loosening the tourniquet on the elf's upper arm, "That should staunch the bleeding for now."

"How many?" asked Legolas weakly, and Aragorn knew that he was referring to the stitches.

"Twenty five. I had to make them very close together because of the bleeding."

"Ai. That is a lot." Aragorn nodded and rose, as he did so pushing the fallen orc off the elf's chest and dragging the monster away from them.

"Now that your arm has been dealt with, I will shift the boulder that is pinning your legs. I do not wish to imagine the pain it is causing you, and I wish that I could have relieved you of it sooner, but I needed to tend your arm." Aragorn grasped the boulder and lifted with all his strength. At first he thought that he may not be able to move it at all, but eventually, with a groan of effort, he successfully flipped the boulder off his friend, who cried out at the sudden rush of sensation.

"Easy, Legolas." Aragorn crouched and squeezed the elf's left hand gently. "It is finished now." He attempted to raise the elf's left arm to check his pulse, but was alarmed when the elf gave a sharp cry, causing him to quickly release the Prince.

"My shoulder… Dislocated…" Legolas gasped, before the Ranger could ask. Aragorn winced, knowing how much pain he had unknowingly caused his friend.

"I am so sorry, _mellon-nin_! I should have asked before I attempted to do that... I will attend to it soon, but I need to examine your legs first - once I have checked your pulse." Legolas mumbled an agreement, and the Ranger softly placed his fingers on the elf's neck, finding a weak, but steady beat. Satisfied, the Ranger shifted his attention to his friend's legs: bleeding and battered from where the rock had fallen on them.

Aragorn knelt quietly beside the elf, and very gently ran his hands over the Prince's legs, trying to ascertain how bad the damage was. "Let me know if anything hurts severely, alright?" Legolas nodded. Aragorn increased the pressure gradually, making small circles with his palms over the young elf's legs. Deciding that there appeared to be no major injury that would prevent him from doing so, Aragorn carefully unlaced his friend's long boots and eased them off. Legolas had groaned loudly as he did this, but had nodded at the Ranger to continue. Setting the boots aside, Aragorn gingerly started to push up the legs of the elf's now-tattered breeches, praying that he would not inflict unnecessary pain on him.

The Ranger sighed: Legolas's shins were blotched with a patchwork of black and blue, scattered with a myriad of oozing cuts and scratches – it looked exceedingly painful. Miraculously though, this appeared to be the extent of it. Aragorn could not understand how the elf's legs had not been crushed: that is, until he noticed a shattered rock lying beside the Prince. Somehow, it must have taken the brunt of the impact, saving Legolas from terrible injury. Aragorn nearly laughed at the absurdity of it: clearly, Legolas's luck only came in two variants: extremely good, or extremely bad – and this was the former. "Legolas!" he exclaimed, unable to keep the relief from bubbling over into his voice, "I do believe your legs have come off extremely lightly. Cuts and bruises are the worst of it, and will be easily treated."

"But, Estel, when the boulder hit me…" Legolas shuddered, remembering. "I heard a… distinctive… I heard a _crunch._ " He frowned, confused. "I do not understand. If it was not the sound of breaking bone, then… what?"

"This," announced Aragorn, holding aloft pieces of the smashed rock in what could only be described as triumph, "It took the force of the blow and protected your legs." Legolas's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and for a moment, his eyes lit up and a smile flickered at the corners of his lips. It abruptly vanished though, as his eyes once more clouded with pain.

Seeing this, Aragorn sprang into action. "Legolas, allow me to set your shoulder. Then you will be much more comfortable and I can move you and mix you something to dull the pain."

"Thank you, Aragorn. You are very kind." Legolas stopped and a sudden look of concern marred his features. "Tavaro!" he cried earnestly, "We must find him, Aragorn!"

"Tavaro?" echoed the Ranger in confusion. He did not remember Legolas having a friend of that name.

"Aye! Tavaro! He bolted and I fear he could have been hurt… Or worse… He could have run into more of those… creatures." Anxiety was mounting in Legolas's voice, and he wriggled, trying to push himself upright, but fell back with a strangled cry of pain. Pushing him down firmly and trying to soothe his friend, it took Aragorn a moment to realise that Legolas must be referring to a horse.

"Hush, _mellon-nin_. I am certain that if he is anything like his brethren at the palace, all is well and we will find him. But first we need to see to your injuries. Then I swear to you, we _will_ find Tavaro." Reluctantly, Legolas gave a nod, his jaw clenched and lips tight. Oh, he hoped desperately that Aragorn was right.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

"Legolas," came Aragorn's voice, rousing the elf from his thoughts, "I need to roll you over so that I may set your shoulder – you will feel so much better. Are you able to comply?"

"Aye," said Legolas, still looking worried, but submitting to logic and allowing Aragorn to start rolling him over. Unfortunately, the movement was torture to his belly, and he let out a muffled yelp, screwing his eyes shut and trying to breathe deeply. Aragorn, thinking it was the elf's shoulder that pained him so, apologised and assured the elf that it would be over soon, swiftly yet lightly rolling him onto his belly. Legolas screamed: the pain was so intense that stars danced beneath his eyelids and he fought to stay awake as he felt his consciousness fade once more. With a sigh, Legolas lost his battle and his arm flopped limply in Aragorn's grip.

"Legolas?!" Distressed, the Ranger tapped at the elf's forehead in vain. He had not expected him to react in this way. The dislocation must be worse than he had initially judged for the pain to have been so severe, and he hoped that the elf would at least stay out long enough for him to set it. With a sigh of his own, the Ranger gathered together what he needed, and prepared to set Legolas's shoulder. The sooner it was done, the less chance that Legolas would wake in the middle of what was sure to be a painful procedure, and the sooner he could make the elf more comfortable. Poor Legolas: he just had an uncanny knack for getting himself into trouble.

Legolas felt something tickling his face. He mumbled something nonsensical and turned his head away, just as something warm and wet started _licking_ him, and a pair of velvety lips nibbled at his nose. Startled into wakefulness and at once becoming aware of a fierce pounding in his belly, the elf's head jerked and his eyes snapped open. Equally surprised, Tavaro jumped back with a loud snort, regarding the elf with great suspicion. Legolas felt his heart leap at the sight of his horse standing safe and sound beside him. Aragorn must have located him while he had been unconscious.

"What is it, Tavaro?" came Aragorn's voice, "Legolas, are you awake?"

"Aye. Tavaro – how did you find him?" Legolas caught sight of the Ranger as he approached, carrying a small bowl. He realised that he had been moved into a small clearing through which a narrow, clear stream flowed. He realised that he was lying on Aragorn's bedroll and had been covered warmly with blankets. A fire crackled nearby and he could hear water bubbling in the small pot that hung over the flames from a framework of sticks. He wondered how long he had been out for, and sensed it had been longer than the first time. Experimentally moving his shoulder, Legolas found it to be back in place, albeit still painful.

"Ai, Legolas, I was beginning to worry!" Legolas heard an audible sigh of relief from the Ranger, who set down his bowl and hurried to the elf's side. "How do you feel?" he asked anxiously. Legolas blinked, trying to think how he felt besides the horrible pain in his middle. He also felt rather ill. But Aragorn had been right – he did otherwise feel a lot more comfortable now that his injuries had been treated and he had been moved. Hoping the pain and sickness in his belly would pass, he managed a smile for Aragorn.

"Better than before." Aragorn's face lit up at this.

"You know not how it lifts my spirits to hear that! You were out for almost an hour, and you had me starting to fear the worst. It seems your body needed the rest."

"Aye. Tavaro…?" Legolas prompted.

"Came back of his own accord," Aragorn smiled, "I was tending to you and he suddenly galloped in here, giving me the fright of my life. He calmed as soon as he saw you – he trusts you greatly. After that, it was all I could do to keep him away from you, as I feared he may inadvertently hurt you. I had even tied him nearby, but out of reach of you – though we can both see how well _that_ worked out," he said dryly. "He must have waited till I went to fetch water, and somehow loosened the knot." The Ranger chuckled slightly, fixing the horse with a mock glare.

"Aye," Legolas managed a small sigh despite the pain, relieved beyond measure that his horse; his friend, was safe.

"Now that you are awake and no worse off, I am going to mix you a remedy for pain."

"Thank you, Estel." Legolas secretly hoped that it would dull the terrible ache in his stomach. He had a fleeting thought that perhaps Tavaro had injured him worse than he had thought, and perhaps he should ask Aragorn to look at it after all, but immediately brushed the thought away: Aragorn had more than enough to worry about already on his behalf, and he would be loath to burden him further.

"It will only take a minute," the Ranger assured him, crouching by the fire and stirring ingredients into the bubbling pot: herbs, Legolas presumed. He closed his eyes, wishing that sleep would arrive to steal away his pain.

True to his word, and before Legolas was able to even feel remotely like he might fall asleep, Aragorn soon returned, carrying a steaming mug. Reaching the elf, he knelt down and blew on the contents of the mug, trying to cool the mixture. "An infusion of poppy, birch bark, and bilberry," The Ranger explained, seeing the questioning look on his friend's face. "With a little honey. It will help to ease the pain and swelling." Legolas nodded and started to raise his right hand to take the mug, wincing as pain shot up his arm. "Nay, Legolas!" exclaimed Aragorn in alarm, "Please do not attempt to move your arm, for you risk renewing the bleeding. Allow me to help you rather," he said, slipping his arm behind Legolas's head and with his free hand, bringing the mug to the elf's lips. "Drink, _mellon-nin_ , it will help."

Legolas grimaced, suddenly sickened by the sweet smell that rose from the mug, but forced himself to take a sip and swallow. Almost immediately, he cried out as waves of intense pain assaulted his middle. The elf felt himself break into a cold sweat. "Legolas!" he heard Aragorn cry in dismay, "Legolas, what is wrong? Did I hurt you? Was it too hot?"

"…No," said Legolas weakly, thinking wildly for some excuse to cover up his reaction. "The taste… It is most foul!" Aragorn's eyebrows shot up and he looked at Legolas quizzically, and the young elf realised just what a pathetic attempt at a lie it had been.

"The taste is _that_ awful?" Aragorn knew that Legolas could be dramatic at times – he had experienced this firsthand on many occasions – but this was an overreaction, even for the Prince. "If I have hurt you in some way, I ask that you tell me so that I can be sure not to repeat it." Legolas nodded and swallowed convulsively, fighting the agony and rapidly rising nausea. Realising at once that something was terribly wrong and he had not merely jarred the now ashen-faced elf, Aragorn looked at him in desperation. "Please, you have to tell me what is wrong so that I can help you!"

"It is… alright!" Legolas managed to blurt out, before gasping and vomiting blood all over himself and the Ranger.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Aragorn stared in horror at the dark red blood that seemed suddenly to cover everything. Legolas, blood trickling down his chin, stared at the mosaic of ruby coloured stains spreading over and rapidly soaking into the blanket, devouring the rough fabric like an all-consuming taint. He locked eyes with Aragorn, his expression matching the Ranger's. Feeling the narrowed silvery eyes bore into him, Legolas abruptly dropped his gaze, and after what seemed like an eternity, the human's low, husky voice broke the silence.

"Legolas," he said quietly, and the young elf could feel the tension peak, crackling like electricity in the air, "I think it is time you told me what _really_ happened." His tone was cold, betraying no emotion, and Legolas found it unsettling, wishing instead that Aragorn would simply rage at him: that he could at least deal with. The Ranger was silent for a moment, his jaw clenched and his breathing heavy, but then he reached out and gently wiped the elf's face clean. "I know you are hiding something from me," he continued, and then, his voice at once taking on a much gentler tone and something akin to desperation glimmering in the depths of his eyes: "I need to know the nature of it if I am to help you." Legolas looked away, feeling guilt – and fear – claw and twist at his breast. Aragorn said nothing, rising and bundling up the bloodied blanket, then putting it aside.

"Tavaro," Legolas said slowly with a sigh, and then grunting slightly as his injured muscles protested the movement, "I was… careless. He spooked, kicked out in a panic and caught me… hard. And that is when that… monster…" Legolas trailed off, wincing at the thought. "Estel, I -" he frowned, and then suddenly looked up at Aragorn, who was surprised to see tears springing to the elf's blue eyes. "I am sorry! I did not wish to burden you, and I… I had hoped it was not serious, that it was merely a surface wound. I -" He was cut off as, undeterred, Aragorn fixed him with a withering look. "…And aye, you are right." His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I allowed my pride to put me in danger. I am sorry, Estel."

"Legolas," Aragorn said emphatically, "You have to stop doing this. I fear that one day you and your accursed pride are going to cost us all dearly." The human sighed deeply, seeing the look of hurt on the elf's face. "I care about you, Legolas. I hope you realise how much." He pulled back the remaining blanket and began to gently unlace Legolas's shirt. "You are never a burden to me, _mellon-nin_. But you know how it worries me when you hide things from me. And you know that in the end, it is futile. …Your pride be damned!" The Ranger exploded in frustration.

"I know," Legolas mumbled, his voice laden with guilt, "You know that I feel the same way about you. I care for you as I would a brother." He winced again as Aragorn's fingers worked over his belly. "Forgive me, Estel. I have wronged you."

Aragorn was silent, but then swiftly and seemingly out of nowhere, he grabbed the elf's left hand, cupping it in both of his, and staring earnestly into Legolas's eyes, as if trying to communicate something for which he lacked words to express. "Legolas, it is not a matter of forgiveness – for of _course_ I forgive you. I just do not want to see you hurting. To see you hurt, especially when you hide it from me – it pains me more than you know. I want to help you. Please, _let_ me help you." The Ranger's hands around his were sincere and comforting, and Legolas knew that he had indeed been forgiven. With a small squeeze, Aragorn released the elf's hand and straightened, looking almost awkward. "Come," he said decisively, his tone now matter-of-fact, "Let us be done with this and instead let us work together to make you well." Legolas nodded, and Aragorn softly opened the elf's shirt to expose the pale, milky skin of his chest and abdomen. Legolas could not resist craning his neck painfully, trying to catch a glimpse of what he knew must be an ugly sight.

Aragorn drew in his breath sharply, but remained stoic, managing – albeit barely – to suppress the exclamation of alarm that endeavoured to burst forth from his lips: he knew that at all costs, he must not place any further stress on Legolas's already fragile state. The elf's midsection was a mess of mottled indigo and maroon, extending from his hips to just below his ribcage, and in the centre of it were two hoofprints, thick with congealed blood and still oozing. The Ranger's mouth set in a grim line: Tavaro had dealt Legolas a cruel blow – and in one of the worst areas possible. He stretched his hand tentatively towards the elf's skin, his fingertips hovering indecisively as if the Ranger anticipated the pain himself. "Legolas," he started, "I need to feel the site to determine where the internal damage is. I will try my utmost to be as gentle as possible, but I would be lying if I told you that it was going to be painless." Legolas inhaled, as if he had been holding his breath, and then nodded. The elf tried not to show it, but Aragorn could see that he was nervous, and he gave his friend a sympathetic look. "Please try to keep still," he cautioned, "We do not yet know the extent of the injury, and if you move around, you may risk worsening it."

"Aye, I will do my best, Estel." Legolas set his jaw as Aragorn laid his palms lightly on his middle. He winced at the human's touch, but found that once his body adjusted to the pain, the Ranger's cool hands were soothing as they softly and rhythmically moved over his burning flesh. Slowly, his eyes grew heavy and began to close. But then the hands paused, and a violent jolt of pain caused the elf to yelp as he was startled into full wakefulness. Aragorn glanced at him apologetically, though his hands remained unrelenting in their assault.

"I am sorry, Legolas. But I have to do this properly. I need to know precisely where the damage is – and where it isn't. I am being as careful as I can be." Legolas simply groaned by way of acknowledgement, but didn't protest further. "Here." Aragorn placed a cloth in the elf's mouth once more. "Bite down." He ran his hands smoothly over the Prince's midriff again, before proceeding to cautiously press his fingertips deeper. Legolas gave a muffled howl and writhed as he grabbed frantically for the Ranger's hands, but at the last minute he stopped and instead latched onto the human's leg. Aragorn gritted his teeth as the elf's nails dug through his breeches and into his skin, but was silent as he continued. Legolas moaned loudly and then went quiet, and the Ranger felt blood welling up around the half-moon cuts in his thigh as the elf tightened his grasp.

Aragorn worked uninterrupted for a time, but then paused as the elf began to shake. He looked at his friend in concern, only to see that tears leaked from Legolas's tightly shut lids. Aragorn felt an intense pang of sympathy shoot through him, twisting like a knife in his heart, and he quickly ran his hand over the elf's belly one last time, completing his examination. He felt Legolas's vicelike grip on his leg slowly weaken, until the Prince's hand dropped limply onto the bedroll. "It is over," the human said as he tenderly brushed back the elf's hair from where it clung sweat-soaked to his face, which had taken on a deathly pallor. "And I do not believe the damage to be as severe as I had admittedly feared, given the type of injury," the Ranger concluded, looking immensely relieved. "There is extensive damage, but I believe that no organs have been ruptured. You will require much rest, but your elven healing ability considered, I am certain you will heal without consequence."

"That is… good, I suppose." Legolas squinted up at the Ranger, the murky light that filtered through the canopy and diffused over the clearing suddenly feeling all too bright. His head spun furiously from the pain.

"Aye, I am thankful." Aragorn started to ease Legolas into a more comfortable position. "But nonetheless, I need to give you something for the pain and bleeding so that you do not slip into shock. Your body needs to rest if it is to heal, and the bleeding into your stomach is causing you to vomit; the exertion of which only serves to exacerbate the bleeding…" Aragorn got to his feet, and was about to turn away when a choked cry of "No!" from the elf sent him to his knees in a flurry of fallen leaves. He was just able to pull Legolas into an upright position before the elf violently brought up a spray of blood again. When it was over, Aragorn dutifully cleaned his friend up, using the blanket that he had earlier cast aside. He was about to lower him again when the elf gave a shudder and collapsed into sobs, crying out at the pain that this wrought upon him, but also helpless to curb the outburst. Taken aback and unsure how to react, Aragorn found himself acting on impulse and enfolding the elf in a heartfelt embrace, holding on as tightly as he deemed safe. Before Legolas had a chance to process what was happening, his body had acted of its own accord, awkwardly clutching at the Ranger with shaking hands, and ignoring the agony that screamed from his limbs. It was not often that Legolas displayed emotion so openly, and Aragorn supposed that the elf's blood loss and pain had left him overwhelmed and slightly delirious. The human held the elf fast, feeling the trembling sobs shake both of their bodies as if they would be rent apart.

"Aragorn, it… it hurts so much," Legolas whispered between ragged sobs, "I am afraid."

"Hush, _mellon-nin_." Aragorn instinctively began to rub the elf's back in slow circles. "I know; you need not seek to explain yourself to me." Legolas made no answer, but Aragorn felt the young elf's body begin to give in to his calming touch, and the sobs gradually lessened. "Just be calm," the Ranger encouraged softly, "All will be well – I will ensure it."

Aragorn held Legolas in silence for several long minutes that felt like hours, knowing that it may be all that he could do to help at this point. Eventually, Legolas sniffed audibly and seemed to at last gain control of himself.

"I apologise," he mumbled, "I am a fool…"

"Do not," Aragorn cut in quickly, "There is nothing foolish in showing emotion." Legolas murmured something incoherent, and relaxed his grip on the Ranger, allowing himself to be eased back into bed. Fussing with a corner of the blanket, the elf avoided making eye contact with the human, but at last he forced himself to speak, sounding as though the words stuck in his throat.

"Thank you, Estel. You are… a good friend." Embarrassed, he closed his eyes and feigned sleep, not waiting for the Ranger's reply. Had he not been so pale, he knew that his face would have been a deep and mortifying shade of crimson. His intuition telling him to be silent, Aragorn simply bent over the elf, straightening the blanket and tucking it around his friend, and then picking up the mug, he rose.

"I am going to prepare the medicine," he said quietly, wishing to inform the elf, but also knowing full well that Legolas, embarrassed over his uncharacteristic show of emotion, would be too proud to reply. Aragorn made his way to the fireside, where he busied himself with medicinal supplies and the small pot.

"Legolas." The Prince of Mirkwood heard the unmistakable sound of the Ranger's voice calling his name, and he realised that while pretending to sleep, he had actually succeeded in doing so for real. "It is ready." Opening his eyes, he saw that the Ranger held a small glass phial that was filled with a clear, bright green liquid. He strained to raise his head, finding that the simple action demanded all of his power. Just as his strength failed him, Legolas felt the human's strong arm cradling his head. "Open your mouth," the Ranger said, uncorking the phial. "No," he added quickly, seeing the look of alarm on the elf's fair face, "You need only take a few drops. It will not be like last time." Looking visibly relieved, Legolas nodded almost imperceptibly and allowed Aragorn to tip a tiny amount of the liquid onto his tongue. Legolas grimaced and held his breath, but relaxed when no pain came. "Sleep now," said Aragorn softly, settling the elf's head comfortably on a rolled up cloak, "I will not leave your side."

"I am not… tired," Legolas muttered, but felt his body betray him, and before he could explain that he was merely resting his eyes for a moment, he had slipped deep into a dreamless sleep, the Ranger's hand resting protectively on his head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Legolas slept fitfully, caught between fleeting moments of pain-filled consciousness and sweet oblivion. Each time he would wake, crying out and confused, Aragorn would be ever at his side: a beacon of constant in the chaos, and the Ranger would soothe him gently back to sleep.

When Legolas woke fully, it was late in the day, and the last remnants of daylight filtered murkily through the leaves, fighting a losing battle with the growing darkness.

"Legolas?" Aragorn was bent over him, watching the elf in concern.

"Aye. I am… awake," Legolas said quietly, speaking lucidly for the first time in what had been hours. At this, Aragorn's face instantly brightened with a warm smile. He automatically stretched out his hand to check the elf's forehead for fever – more due to his healer's habits than because the situation called for it. The elf's forehead was cool, albeit slightly sticky with sweat, and the human smoothed a few strands of tangled gold away from the prince's face.

"How do you feel?"

"You do not… want to know." Legolas grimaced and shut his eyes. He tried to raise a hand to his head, but thought better of it and sighed in frustration, opening his eyes slightly and squinting at the Ranger, a look of distress on his face. "My head," he said through gritted teeth, "It feels as though it has been… crushed by a cave troll." Aragorn gave him a sympathetic look and reached into the pocket of his tunic, producing the little green phial once more.

"This will ease your pain," he explained, though he needn't have bothered: at the sight of the phial, Legolas had already opened his mouth to accept the dose, which was most unlike the stubborn prince. Aragorn knew that he must be in a great amount of pain indeed, and carefully administered the medicine. After making the elf comfortable, Aragorn looked thoughtful for a moment, before placing a hand on Legolas's shoulder and getting to his feet. "I will not be long," he assured, turning and walking stiffly towards the glowing embers that were left of the fire, stumbling as he stamped his feet to bring back the sensation to his legs. As Legolas watched him stoking the fire, the elf felt a sudden warmth spread through him as he realised that the Ranger had indeed sat unmoving at his side for the entire time that he had slept. He marvelled at the human's stubbornness and loyalty – for though the lives of men were but a fraction of the lifespan of an elf, Aragorn so willingly gave up his precious time to aid his friends. Legolas wondered what he had done to be blessed with a friend such as the Ranger, and his mind drifted off, thinking back on all the times that the human had been there for him.

When Aragorn returned, Legolas's expression bore a faraway, yet radiant smile, and the Ranger tipped his head in confusion.

"What is it, _mellon-nin_?" Startled out of his reverie, the elf's smile vanished and he looked away, suddenly shy.

"It is nothing, Estel," he mumbled, trying to flash the Ranger a nonchalant grin, but failing miserably as his head throbbed. Aragorn nodded and shrugged in what seemed to the elf to be a knowing way, and sat down beside the bedroll.

"Even if it is nothing, it makes my heart glad to see you look so at peace." The Ranger gave a small smile of his own. He held up the tin mug, and Legolas blanched visibly. "You have lost much blood, and I would that you at least tried to drink something. You are no doubt dehydrated, which as well as causing your headache, is putting a lot of undue strain on your body." Steam rose slowly from the mug, and the scent of peppermint rose to the elf's nostrils. He groaned.

"I do not want it."

"Legolas, please," the Ranger started, trying to bring the mug to his friend's lips. Legolas abruptly turned his head away, and Aragorn sighed, cursing the pig-headedness of the elf, which was enough to rival that of even the most obstinate dwarf. " _Mellon-nin_ ," he continued determinedly, "this is just mint tea with honey. It will soothe your stomach and help to hydrate you." Legolas swallowed anxiously, at once noticing how dry his mouth was and how thirsty he felt.

"Aragorn, I cannot!" he cried in distress, shuddering involuntarily at the memory of what had happened last time. Aragorn's brow creased as he realised what the elf was thinking.

'Legolas, it will not be like last time. You have slept for many hours no with no signs of continued bleeding – it has either stopped or slowed to a point where it will not make you sick. And your organs are not ruptured, so liquids will be fine. The best thing you can do for yourself right now is to get fluids in to replenish what you have lost – you will feel so much better. Please just try – if, after trying, you still cannot, then I will not force you." Legolas exhaled shakily at this and grunted slightly in resignation. If what the Ranger said was true and the drink would help the terrible ache in his head, he would be a fool not to at least take a sip.

"Fine, Estel. I will try. But I cannot promise anything."

"And that is all I ask." Legolas groaned as the Ranger cradled his tender head and brought the cup to his lips. When he felt the elf relax, he tipped it back gently, and a little of the liquid trickled into the prince's mouth. Legolas hesitated briefly, feeling a rush of anxiety, but forced himself to sip at the tea, swishing it around his mouth before forcing himself to swallow. For a few tense moments, he felt sure that the pain and nausea would come, but soon found that just as Aragorn had said, the sickness did not return. The mint was crisp and wonderfully refreshing, and Legolas could already feel the pain loosening its hold on his skull.

"How is it?" Aragorn asked, but as he saw some of the tightness leave his friend's shoulders, he had his answer.

"Pleasant," Legolas admitted, "It is as you said – I am able to drink this. And it seems the mint has an almost immediate effect on my head."

"That is good." Aragorn helped the elf to drink again, and Legolas found himself taking greedy swallows of the delicious tea in an attempt to quench his thirst.

"Easy." The Ranger allowed the elf a little more and then pulled the cup away, causing Legolas to frown. "That is enough for now. I know you are thirsty, and it is true that the mint will soothe your stomach, but it will not do to overload it either. Let us wait a little while, and then I will give you some more."

"Aye, alright." Legolas conceded reluctantly. He wished that he could down the drink in its entirety as his body urged him to, but he also knew that what the Ranger said made sense, and he could not think of anything more awful than to be subjected to the vomiting and retching again. " _La fael_ , Estel." [Thank you] Aragorn nodded and settled the elf back on the bed.

"Here." He held up a small jar. "I have something else for your headache as well." The Ranger unscrewed the lid and the elf again caught the calming scent of mint. "May I?" the human asked, dipping his fingers in the oil and indicating what he meant to do. Legolas grunted softly in agreement: he dared not nod his head. Aragorn reached out and started to gently rub the oil into the elf's temples, using light circular motions of his thumbs. Legolas let out a little sigh as he felt the pain and tension dissolving away beneath the Ranger's expert touch.

Moving to Legolas's forehead, the Ranger again massaged the oil into the elf's skin. Legolas couldn't help it – he gave a slight shiver of pleasure, for this sensation was in such sharp contrast to the pain of the last few hours that the pleasant touch felt greatly intensified. Misreading the situation, Aragorn quickly pulled back in concern, but Legolas's brow wrinkled and he looked like he was about to say something. "What is it, _mellon-nin_?" Legolas briefly considered asking the Ranger to continue, but suddenly he felt self-conscious and instead merely gave his friend a small smile.

"Thank you, Estel," he said softly, and the Ranger smiled in turn, quickly applying the last of the oil to the elf's forehead. He then gently pressed an oil-covered thumb to the underside of Legolas's nose, imparting the oil onto the skin. The elf inhaled as deeply as he could manage to, feeling the cool, clean scent rejuvenating his mind and body.

"How does it feel?" Aragorn wiped his hands on a cloth and regarded the prince expectantly.

"It feels better. Much." Ice blue eyes met silver and Legolas gave another smile. "Thank you again." Aragorn nodded, looking relieved, but then a troubled look flickered across his face. Legolas frowned and was about to enquire as to the cause of the human's expression, when the Ranger straightened.

"I must tend to your wounds," he said, his voice apologetic. Legolas groaned slightly, his good mood evaporating. However, even though he might not admit it, he knew as well as Aragorn did that the task was necessary.

"So be it," he sighed, steeling himself as Aragorn slid the blankets down and parted the elf's shirt, which he had thoughtfully left unlaced.

"It will not be as unpleasant this time," the human promised, carefully looking over the elf's belly, noting how the bruises had darkened. Legolas was clearly in a lot of pain, even though he might be doing his best not to show it. The Ranger noticed also that the hoof-shaped abrasions had scabbed over and no longer leaked blood, for which he was glad. He reached for his pack, and after rifling through its contents for a moment, he found the bottle of healing salve and opened it. Scooping out a generous amount into his hand, he rubbed his palms together to coat them in the mixture. "I need to touch now," he said to the elf, "but I won't prod." Legolas made a small sound of acknowledgement, and the Ranger got to work, rubbing the medicine gently over the elf's middle, concentrating on the areas with the most damage. Legolas gasped and hissed as the Ranger first made contact with his skin, but set his jaw and forced himself to endure it, for he could already feel the relief that the salve was bringing. Aragorn worked fast and was soon finished with the job, at which point he carefully unfolded a cloth and placed it over the elf's belly to protect Legolas from the uncomfortable sticky sensation that the salve would cause as it stuck to his shirt. After smoothing the cloth over the skin, he drew the elf's shirt closed once more and pulled the blankets up to his friend's chest. Next, the Ranger gingerly lifted the elf's right arm and rolled back the sleeve, then rested the arm across his lap. Carefully, he began to unravel the bloody bandages from the exposed forearm, causing Legolas to moan slightly. Putting the bandages aside, Aragorn noticed with concern that the wound still bled slowly – though at least this had prevented it from sticking to the bandages. The Ranger picked up a piece of bandage and cautiously dabbed at the wound to get a better look, and Legolas cried out loudly and reflexively tried to jerk his arm away. Aragorn apologised and decided against spreading salve on the wound, for this would surely be agony for his elven friend. Instead, he took a clean roll of bandages from his pack, and coated them liberally in salve where they would come into contact with the cut, then rebound the injury, pulled down the shirt sleeve, and tucked Legolas's arm back under the blankets.

Aragorn then turned his attention to the elf's legs, spreading the salve over the cuts and bruises while he rechecked the injuries. Legolas was pleased to find that this part was not particularly painful: he found that the medication created a pleasant tingling sensation on the skin, which distracted from the dull ache of the bruising, and he relaxed for a few minutes and let Aragorn tend to him.

"Tavaro," he said after some time, his voice carrying a note of worry, "He needs to be fed, but alas! I have nothing to give him!" In the fading light, he could just make out the horse pawing at the base of the tree where Aragorn had tied him, cropping the sparse blades of grass that were able to push up through the leaflitter, and crunching up any acorns that he happened to uncover. Aragorn paused in his ministrations and thought for a moment.

"Will he eat lembas? I have a fair amount with me."

"Aye," Legolas sounded relieved, "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it, my friend. I will see to him as soon as I have finished with you. How much should I give him?"

"One cake, if you can spare it." Aragorn nodded with a smile.

"Of course, Legolas. It shall be done." Legolas flashed him a quick smile of gratitude, and the Ranger resumed his task.

"Estel." The Ranger looked up at the mention of his name. The elf's tone sounded curious, and Aragorn knew that a question was soon to follow. He was not disappointed. "What were you doing in Mirkwood? Not that I am complaining, of course, but I do not believe that the Valar simply plucked you up and dropped you onto me in my time of need – though that would certainly explain the coincidence." Legolas looked up at his friend, his eyes twinkling slightly with mirth, and Aragorn chuckled. The human soon sobered however, his face grim.

"Orcs," he answered simply, but Legolas only stared at him, his eyes meeting the Ranger's and holding the contact, demanding an explanation. Aragorn gave a small shrug and elaborated. "I had first sighted the creatures at the Old Ford, and had tracked them into Mirkwood along the Old Forest Road." The Ranger paused with a pensive look, clearly not disclosing everything.

"Go on," Legolas pressed, "From whence did they come?" Aragorn was silent, not wishing to burden his already stressed friend. "Estel," the elf warned, his tone at once clipped and princely, "They are in my father's realm, _my_ realm, and I need to know. And I find it hard to accept that our paths crossed so easily by chance in this great wood, unless…" Legolas narrowed his eyes, searching the Ranger's face for any hints at an answer, and slowly a look of horror grew upon his features as a thought dawned on him.

"Aye," said Aragorn wearily, knowing - and confirming - what Legolas already suspected, "It would indeed appear that they …were …headed for your father's halls."

"Ai, how many?" the elf asked, fearing the answer, "And what do you mean "were"? What happened? Surely you could not have taken them out on your own?"

"No more than two score. Travelling fast and light – a scouting party." Legolas relaxed a bit at this but still looked concerned. He winced as Aragorn's fingers worked over a particularly painful spot. "From whence did they come?" he repeated. He felt he already knew the answer, but he hoped fervently that he was wrong. "And what happened to them?" Aragorn shifted uncomfortably before he said the words that Legolas did not wish to hear.

"Dol Guldur." The utterance of these words sent a cold shiver clawing its way down the elf's back, and he pursed his lips. "It seemed that they had attempted to skirt around the forest, where they could travel faster, but shortly after I sighted them, they changed their course as if sensing my presence. I followed them along the Old Forest road until they turned north and I lost them over the mountains. When I again picked up the trail, all but one of their number were missing. Regrettably I know not what became of the rest, but the area was thick with cobwebs and it is my hope that the spiders have done something useful for a change. I decided to follow the remaining creature until I could cut the foul monster down, after which I planned to make my own way to your father's palace and inform him of the creatures' activity within the woodland realm. The orc managed to evade me, however, and seemed bent on completing the mission of its fellows, until I had almost caught up to it near the palace, which is when it attacked you." The Ranger sighed heavily. "And the rest you know."

"Aye, but know we do not, if there are more of the creatures lurking around. We cannot say with surety that they were caught by the spiders. I fear we must make haste and ride for the palace at once!" Legolas tried to push himself upright and Aragorn leaped forward, but he was too late and the prince fell back with a yelp.

"Legolas!" he cried, checking the elf over. The Prince's breathing was ragged and his face contorted with pain, but it seemed as though he had not done any further damage to himself. " _Mellon-nin_ , you are in no condition to travel!" Aragorn exclaimed in disbelief as he made his friend comfortable, "As much as I do not like it, we will need to spend the night here and we can reassess your condition in the morning." He felt the elf stiffen as if he were about to argue, but instead the prince exhaled quickly and was silent. "I will keep watch tonight. No harm will come to us." He tried to reassure the elf, knowing that it was not for the prince's own wellbeing that the elf worried.

"I… sense nothing," the elf said shakily, still fighting waves of pain, "But admittedly my senses are dulled, and we would be… fools to rely on them." He hated to admit weakness, but he refused to risk the Ranger's safety should the human be lulled into a false sense of security around him. The Ranger nodded understandingly, and decided to change the subject.

"And what, pray tell, were you doing out in the forest on your own, Legolas Greenleaf Thranduillion?" The Ranger's question and use of his full name left the elf taken aback, and he squirmed under the unforgiving silver gaze, knowing that the human would not like the answer.

"I was… riding," Legolas said huskily, avoiding eye contact, "Riding and …speaking with the trees." Suddenly the rough grey fabric of the blanket had become a thing of fascination to him: he observed how the thick fibres criss-crossed each other in perfect order, the thousands of single threads uniting to form a greater whole, becoming a far higher purpose than they could achieve on their own. Some of the fibres were darker, he noticed, and others lighter, yet in the end their differences did not stop them from fitting together and becoming one, wrapped in a fine layer of fuzz. In places, the fabric was thin with wear, and the fibres had started to weaken and fray, yet still their unison held…

"You were… _riding_?" Aragorn's incredulous tone broke the elf's attempt at escaping the conversation. The Ranger heaved a sigh of exasperation. "I would ask why you never thought to take others along with you, but by Eru, I know you too well for that: it is not that you did not think – you _deliberately_ chose to go on your own. And I needn't even tell you that it is folly, for you yourself would say the same to anyone else. Ai, Legolas, sometimes I wonder what exists between those pointed ears of yours…" He was interrupted by a groan of frustration from the elf as he rolled his eyes at the Ranger. Undeterred, Aragorn finished, picking up where he had left off, "That you would have such little regard for your own safety." He paused for a moment before he continued, his voice softening. "I… I do not know what I would do if ever I lost you, Legolas." The human cast his head down to where his hands ran over the elf's shin. "Please, _please_ be more careful in future. …If not for you, do it for me," he whispered, looking imploringly at the prince. Legolas was silent. He suddenly felt terrible, crushing guilt at the realisation that his negligence had hurt not only himself, but his best friend as well.

"Estel?" he said hesitantly, getting the human's attention, "I am sorry. And… I will try. But only because you insist so!" he added stubbornly, and Aragorn couldn't help but chuckle slightly despite himself, almost expecting Legolas to stick his tongue out at him like a petulant elfling.

"You! You are absolutely incorrigible!"

"And you are a mother hen!" the elf shot back, flashing a roguish grin at the Ranger.

"At least I am not incorrigible!" Aragorn exclaimed, and both human and elf burst out laughing, though Legolas yelped and scowled as his body protested.

Aragorn finished tending to Legolas and helped him to finish off the mint tea, something for which the thirsty elf was most grateful. Once he had straightened the bedding, the Ranger stood up, and Legolas watched him as he pulled a cake of lembas from his pack and unwrapped it, before starting towards Tavaro, who pricked his ears and gave a high pitched whistle as he tossed his head in anticipation. Reaching the horse, Aragorn hushed him and offered him the waybread, which the stallion accepted with such gusto that the human had to quickly pull his fingers back to avoid being nipped – clearly the horse was no stranger to lembas bread. In moments the dun had crunched it up and he stared at the Ranger, sniffing and nudging at the human's clothes, expecting more. Aragorn shook his head. " _Baw_ , Tavaro. [No] You have had enough – more and you will regret being so greedy." The stallion snorted at him in disagreement, but didn't argue further, instead bobbing his head and straining at his tether, his sights fixed on Legolas.

"Estel." Aragorn heard the elf's strained voice from the bedroll, "He wishes to speak with me and requests that you untie him."

"Legolas, I do not know…" the Ranger hesitated, worried that the large animal would accidentally hurt the elf in his delicate state.

"Worry not, Aragorn. He already feels enough remorse, and he blames himself for this. He will not hurt me." Aragorn sighed, wondering how the elf managed to seemingly read his mind, yet not realising that his thoughts were plastered plainly across his face, and even in the gloom, the sharp elven eyesight missed nothing.

"So be it," the Ranger surrendered wearily. He knew that he had to pick his battles with the prince, and this was a battle he could do without. Pulling the end of the rope to instantly release the knot, Aragorn decided that he would simply stay close enough to elf and horse that he would be able to act fast should anything start to go awry. No sooner had he dropped the rope, then the great horse had surged forward as if he had been bitten, and Aragorn grabbed in vain for the stallion's halter, fearing that he would trample Legolas. His worries were needless, for the stallion came to an abrupt halt a few paces from the elf, with such force that he brought his hindquarters under him and braced with his forelegs, sending leaves and dirt flying as he slid to a stop. Gathering himself, the horse pricked his ears and slowly picked his way towards his master, giving a low whicker in greeting.

" _Mae g'ovannen, mellon-nin!_ " [Well met, my friend] Legolas said soothingly, wincing as he tried to stretch his hand towards the horse, causing his injured shoulder to throb fiercely. The stallion stopped and pawed nervously, sensing the elf's pain, and stretched his muzzle towards the prince's face.

Meanwhile, Aragorn had carefully worked his way over to the horse, fearful of spooking him lest he hurt Legolas in his fright. Cautiously, he cleared his throat and placed a gentle hand on the horse's flank to signal his presence. The stallion acknowledged him by way of a wide flick of his inky black tail, successfully catching the Ranger in the face and causing the human to grumble at the stinging sensation. Legolas suppressed a giggle. "He says you need to stop worrying, Estel." Legolas closed his eyes as he felt the soft velvet brush against his cheek, and the warm breath caressed his skin. Tavaro lipped at the elf's nose for a moment, and then did something that Aragorn found altogether extraordinary: he carefully laid down next to the prince, arching his neck and pressing his muzzle to the elf's forehead, inhaling slowly. Legolas whispered something softly in Sindarin and the horse nickered quietly in return.

"Aragorn," Legolas whispered, "he will not believe me that all is well, and wishes to see for himself what he has unwittingly inflicted. Please will you show him?" He frowned, hating to admit that he could not even perform such a simple task on his own. Aragorn nodded and knelt down beside his friend, pulling the covers back and then carefully opening the elf's shirt and lifting the cloth to expose the skin. The Ranger had learned long ago never to question his elven friend when it came to animals – he had come to accept that the prince was able to communicate with them on a level that he as a human simply could not.

He pulled back to give the horse space, and watched as the stallion swept his muzzle over the elf, coming to hover over the area around his master's navel. The hot breath was comforting, and Legolas savoured the gentle warmth. Though neither elf nor horse made a sound, Aragorn could feel the power of the wordless communication that resonated between them, and he caught himself feeling jealous that he could not share that bond with his own horse. After many minutes had passed, Tavaro lifted his head and shifted it away from the elf, and Legolas's cerulean eyes made contact with the Ranger's. Aragorn nodded again and covered the prince, huddling next to him in the dark once he had finished, drawing his bloodied cloak close for warmth. He leaned cautiously against Tavaro, but when the horse did not object, the human relaxed and blew lightly into his cupped hands, preparing himself for a long night through which he was determined to keep watch.

"Aragorn?"

"What is it, Legolas?"

"I do not feel …comfortable with us staying here… It is not far to the palace, and we could make it by midnight… If… if you help me." The last part came out rushed and mumbled, and Aragorn would have asked him to repeat it had the entire notion not been so ridiculous.

"Legolas!" he exclaimed, "Were you not listening earlier? We absolutely cannot travel tonight! Between Tavaro and myself, we will make up for your compromised senses. I swear I will keep a vigil all night. I _will_ keep us safe. I have purposefully set the fire at a distance where the light does not reach us, and the flames will dazzle any would-be onlookers, which will make us nigh impossible to see in the dark. If your elven healing ability is anything to go by, I am sure you will be able to travel tomorrow – if one of your father's search parties has not found us by then."

"Search parties?" Legolas all but squeaked in alarm. Aragorn raised an eyebrow.

"Legolas, you know all too well that your father will send half the guard after you if you do not return home by dark."

"But we can still – "

"NO!" The Ranger's tone was final. "I will _not_ risk renewing your bleeding by subjecting your body to travel. End of discussion!" In the dark, he heard the prince huff sulkily. The human reached out and placed a gentle hand on top of the elf's head, trying to alleviate the anxiety that he knew plagued his friend. "Do not worry, Legolas. We will be fine." He tried to keep his voice light and cheerful, but Legolas still heard the hint of worry in his words, and he sighed. "Why not get some sleep?" Aragorn suggested, "You will need the strength if we are to travel tomorrow."

"Aye," Legolas agreed grudgingly, and the Ranger was surprised that he had taken the bait – or perhaps the elf did it deliberately to appease him. Either way it did not matter, for the elf needed rest if he was to heal. "I suppose you are right." Legolas closed his eyes, already feeling sleep hovering at the edge of his consciousness. "Wake me …when it is… my turn to… keep watch." At this, he heard a sound from the Ranger that sounded halfway between a snort and a choke, but he declined to comment, trying to fight the sleepiness that was overcoming him. He chose not to divulge this to his companion, but the elf could not shake the deep feeling of dread that hung over him. At last though, his tired body won out over his emotions, and he slipped into a deep sleep, his dreams haunted mercilessly by demons of the darkness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

The sound of heavily booted footsteps rang out through the halls as Thranduil, son of Oropher and King of the Woodland Realm, paced anxiously up and down the length of the throne room. Dusk was falling rapidly over his kingdom, and long shadows stretched and flickered over the white stone of the walls as the candlelight fought to keep the night at bay. And still, Legolas had not returned. The Elvenking's brow furrowed deeply and he pinched the bridge of his nose between finger and thumb as he let out a long sigh. Meanwhile, Galion trailed valiantly after his king, trying vainly to placate the tall blond elf.

"My lord, please – why not have some wine and try to relax?" The butler pushed a silver tray containing a goblet of wine at the king. "All will be well, I am sure. As you well know, this is not the first time that Prince Legolas has snuck out on his own. I am certain that he shall return soon – " Galion was interrupted as Thranduil, reaching the boundary of the room, spun on his heel and with a roar of frustration, collided with the unfortunate butler in a spray of red wine. Galion gasped, but without missing a beat, the elf deftly caught both tray and goblet before they could clatter to the ground. Mopping wine from his hazel locks with a silken handkerchief and trying to regain his composure, Galion trotted fearlessly after the king, though secretly he was very glad indeed that the wine had miraculously missed the notoriously short-tempered Thranduil.

The aforementioned elf sighed again as he glanced impatiently out of the window for what must have been the umpteenth time in the hour: the landscape outside was almost completely veiled in darkness now, and there was no sign of his wayward son. A small groan slipped from the Elvenking's lips as he tried once more to banish the worry from his mind, but of course he could not.

"Galion!" The butler came sharply to attention as the king barked his name.

"My lord! How may I be of service?" Ordinarily, Thranduil might have found dark amusement in Galion's appearance, for the butler was still dripping wine, and the liquid had soaked the front of his green tunic. However, he was in no mood for mirth tonight, and the red stain reminded the king far too much of… "…My lord?" Galion ventured, concern written in his features at the king's sudden wince and faraway eyes. Immediately, the golden haired elf snapped out of it and fixed the hapless butler with a glare that could have slain a Balrog.

"Find Elenath at once and ready the horses! We ride immediately – I'll not linger here any longer while my son is in danger!"

"It shall be done, my lord!" Galion nodded swiftly and bowed deeply before scurrying off in search of the king's friend and captain of the guard, stopping an idle servant as he ran and sending him for the stables. Slowing down slightly now that he was out of earshot of the king, Galion sighed and shook his head. Thranduil worried far too much and far too easily when it came to his beloved son. No doubt Legolas would, as always, return unharmed, only to get into a vicious fight with his sire, angry (and perhaps rightfully so) at the king's excessive efforts to protect him. It was this that was widening the rift between father and son and threatening to destroy any hope that they had at a meaningful relationship. Legolas was fighting desperately for his independence, yet Thranduil, having lost his wife and terrified of losing his son as well, refused to grant the Prince his freedom.

As an elfling, Legolas had accepted and even loved the attention that his father had lathered so thickly upon him, yet the older he got, the more he had needed his independence, and he had stubbornly pushed boundaries and defied his father at every opportunity that had presented itself in order to get it. He had even sat the king down in desperation and tried to explain to his father what he wanted – what he _needed_. Yet Thranduil had reacted instead with hurt and confusion at the perceived rejection of his love, and the king's slew of chaotic emotions had found form in anger.

Knowing that the obstinate prince would continue to take matters into his own hands, Thranduil had clamped down even harder in his efforts. Galion remembered the time that he had seen the King sneaking into his son's room late one night when he had thought nobody awake to see, trying to check on the prince. Legolas, however, had either been awake or had been awoken by his father's presence, and had predictably been absolutely livid. The young elf had stormed from his chambers in his nightclothes, and had vanished into the night. Two days it had taken the guards to find the Prince, and when at last he had been brought back, white and shaking with fury, he would not even look at his father and had refused to speak to him for two weeks. _Alas_ , Galion thought miserably. He had watched the entire situation pan out, and knew exactly what was wrong, yet both father and son were stubbornness personified and he knew that he was entirely powerless to help them.

* * *

The door closed softly behind him as Elenath trudged wearily into his bedchamber and drew the bolt shut across the heavy oak panels. He shrugged off his grey cloak and unlaced his boots, then kicked them off, sending them sailing one by one into the corner with two satisfying _thumps,_ eliciting a small grin from their owner. Reaching behind him, the youngster undid his braids and ran his hands through his silky raven hair, frowning slightly as his fingers caught in an unexpected tangle. He quickly tugged them free, wincing at the sudden jab of pain, and set to work on untangling the knot as he reflected on his day.

It had been a long one of border patrols and more border patrols, and the spiders were pushing ever closer to the elven stronghold. It felt often as though the guards' best efforts to curb the creatures' advances were in vain – and today was a prime example of this. One of the many-legged fiends had somehow, inexplicably appeared in the palace gardens, where it had proceeded to wreak havoc upon the Mirkwood elves, scurrying in delight after a luckless gardener and having the audacity to devour several chickens and a goat before it had been slain. Yes, it could have been far worse, Elenath knew, but the spiders were becoming more and more bold, and this worried him immensely.

As captain of the guard, he felt an enormous responsibility to the kingdom to uphold peace and safety for all within – and often he felt completely overwhelmed by it all, left wondering if he truly had what it took to be the leader so desperately needed in these dark times. Indeed; he had scarcely come of age before being voted into the position, in what had somehow been a landslide victory. Elenath had felt great honour at the faith that his fellow warriors clearly had in him, yet also he felt great fear and apprehension at what he felt was a very real possibility that he would fail his people due to his youth and relative inexperience.

And of course, he had never deserved the position in the first place. Elenath sighed as he headed for the bathing chamber that adjourned the sleeping quarters, peeling off his clothes as he went and dropping them in a haphazard trail across the floor. No, that privilege should have gone to Legolas. _Would_ have gone to Legolas, had the young prince's father not expressly forbidden him from running for the position. Elenath recalled how Legolas had all but skipped into the throne room, the very picture of joy, and with a flourish of his bow had announced his intention to run for captain of the guard. He had worked incredibly hard for it, ceaselessly honing his skills in both ranged and hand to hand combat, and Legolas had bounced slightly with anticipation as he urged the Elvenking to give his blessing.

Instead, Elenath remembered how the prince's fair features had fallen as the expression of shock on the king's face had quickly turned to fear and then anger, and he had harshly refused his son. Legolas had dropped his weapons on the ground with a clatter and had run blindly from the room, unshed tears glistening in his eyes and long flaxen hair streaming out behind him. The blond elf had been in such a state that he had uncharacteristically tripped and gone sprawling as he had ascended the stairs, which he had been taking two at a time; but he had scrambled to his feet and dashed out of sight before anyone could reach him. Elenath had wanted to rush after him, and had moved to do so, but had stopped, turning to look back at his king and feeling torn. Legolas and the dark haired elf were firm friends, and Elenath had chewed at his bottom lip in agitation, trapped between the duty of friendship and that of a guard on duty. Thranduil, sensing his inner turmoil, had sighed heavily and waved him off, and Elenath had needed no further encouragement to sprint headlong after his friend.

When at last he had found Legolas, the prince had been sitting by the river, moodily casting stones into the seething, churning waters. The blond elf had been so absorbed in this task that he had looked up, startled, as he had felt Elenath's presence, and the guard had felt a pang of sympathy at the other's tear-streaked face. Legolas had merely scowled and turned back to throwing pebbles, and Elenath had gone to sit beside him. The two young elves had sat in silent contemplation for a time, Legolas drawing comfort from the warrior beside him. At length, it was Elenath who had spoken quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I am going to withdraw my application."

"What?!" Legolas had spun around to face him, alarm upon his features. "'Nath! Nay, do not! For I would not ask this of you."

"But why?" Elenath had shrugged hopelessly and stared into the other's eyes, eyes the colour of sky on a cloudless summer's day. "How could I, in good conscience, proceed with this, knowing that it is all you have dreamed of for years? A friendly competition between us was one thing – especially since we all know what the outcome would have been." Elenath chuckled darkly at this before continuing, "But to go ahead knowing that I may really take the rank from you? Nay, I cannot, Legolas!" The blond elf had stared at his friend, his expression unreadable.

"'Nath, if you do not, then someone else will. And I truly cannot think of a worthier warrior than you." At this, Legolas had placed his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. "Just because I cannot ascend to the rank, does not mean that you should deny yourself the opportunity. You are a most eligible candidate indeed, and I believe that the position will be yours."

He had paused, suddenly fixing the raven haired elf with an earnest look. "Elenath, I hereby impart my ambition to you!" Legolas had said with a small smile. "Carry my hopes and dreams on these shoulders – become captain of the guard, 'Nath, and make us _both_ proud!" And Elenath had done exactly that: his easy-going nature coupled with his ability to be diplomatic and quick thinking when necessary had made him a firm favourite with his fellow guards, and he had won easily. At the appointing ceremony, Legolas had watched silently beside his father, his eyes shining with pride for his friend, for Elenath had fulfilled the wish that he himself could never accomplish.

Shaking the memories from his head, Elenath, now completely naked, doubled back to the end table beside his bed and poured himself a goblet of wine from the bottle that stood there. He delicately swirled the contents around the glass as he carried it into the bathroom, where he placed it upon the side of the bathtub. The elf reached out and turned on the taps, watching as thanks to the palace's plumbing system, a steady stream of hot water began to spurt into the tub. He added a few drops of peppermint oil and inhaled deeply, feeling the hot steam rise to caress the smooth skin of his chest. A hot bath and a glass of wine – few things could compare after a long day. Unless of course, the hot bath and wine were to be shared. A mischievous twinkle danced in his azure eyes at the thought, and the corners of his mouth lifted slightly in a grin. Catching sight of his reflection in the full length looking glass that occupied a corner of the room, Elenath straightened and turned to face it.

Distracted, he turned this way and that, puffing out his chest and flexing as he eyed himself critically. Waterfalls of sleek black hair cascaded over pale shoulders, the skin slightly damp with a sheen of sweat and steam. Well defined muscle rippled with liquid fluidity under porcelain skin, and he ran his hands over his lean figure as he turned again to get a better view of his back, inhaling and tensing so that his shoulder blades popped out, then straining his eyes as he tried to follow the slight indent of his spine as it traced a path through thick, creamy flesh. Languidly it trailed ever downwards, past the slight curve of his hips, accented by soft depressions of muscle as lower back slowly gave way to firm buttocks.

Experimentally, Elenath pivoted slightly to examine his front, at the same moment as he felt warm water lick at his heels. Instead of calmly continuing with the assessment of his form, Elenath felt his legs abruptly slip from under him and he went down with a yelp of surprise. He landed hard on the wet floor, finding himself staring up at the ceiling. After a few dazed moments, he allowed himself a loud groan before turning over and pushing himself upwards to quickly shut off the taps and throw a towel over the mess. Once he had gingerly felt his sore body and deemed nothing to be broken, Elenath cautiously eased himself into the overfull tub, causing more water to pour unchecked over the sides. The hot water felt glorious, and he let out an involuntary sigh of contentment before submerging himself in the soothing embrace. Elenath eventually felt the burning need for oxygen though, and the elf reluctantly surfaced, pushing back his dripping hair and groping for the wine. His eyes slowly shut as, the sweet taste of wine on his tongue, he leaned back in blissful recline. Elenath's free hand that had until now been resting on the peak of his hipbone, began to stray enticingly lower as the elf relaxed.

* * *

"Elenath! Elenath!" The elf in question's head jerked upwards, his eyes snapping open in alarm. Someone was pounding on his chamber door.

"Rhiach," he muttered. By Eru, why must they bother him _now?_ Perhaps if he ignored them, whomever it was would go away… Elenath frowned in annoyance, glad that he had bolted the door. But maybe someone had heard him when he had fallen earlier, and had come to see if all was well. If that was indeed the case, then it would not at all do to ignore them. "Worry not!" he called cheerfully. "Everything is fine!" The pounding at once ceased, and Elenath had dared to hope that the intrusion had left, when the awful racket started up with renewed vigour. "I _said_ all is well!" Elenath yelled above the noise, feeling more than a little aggravated now. "You needn't be concerned!" Again there was silence, and a voice called out, sounding remarkably – and most inconveniently – like that of Galion's.

"All is _not_ well!" It sounded like Galion because it _was_ Galion, and Elenath feared that there could be only one reason for the older elf's call. "His majesty requests your immediate presence!" Elenath froze, his eyes widening – he knew it was coming, yet still the unexpected summons filled him with fear. Had he done something wrong? The young elf's mind ran wildly over his list of duties from that day, seeking to pinpoint anywhere where he could have failed. Or maybe more spiders had infiltrated the palace under cover of dark? Elenath shuddered – oh, he hoped not.

But wait, Galion's tone had sounded almost rueful – had something serious happened, doubtless the butler's voice would have reflected the situation. Elenath wrinkled his nose and groaned inwardly, suddenly feeling fairly certain that he knew why the king had summoned him, and he didn't like it. "Coming, Galion!" The raven haired warrior slumped forward in defeat before reluctantly hoisting himself from the delicious warmth. Really, the last thing he felt like doing at this moment was partaking in a pointless hunt through the depths of Mirkwood in search of Legolas, who he knew just desperately sought some space. All that would happen is that he, Elenath, would suffer a sleepless night and bear witness to another domestic battle between the infuriated Prince and his father. Not to mention that going after his friend, even on (and especially on) the king's orders, felt like betrayal. Elenath let out a heavy sigh as he towelled the worst of the water from his hair and then wrapped the soft fabric around his waist. _Why do these things always happen to me?_

* * *

The night-time chorus of crickets was broken only by the hollow rhythm of hooves on cobblestone as two figures, heavily shrouded in grey woollen cloaks, rode for the palace gates. The taller of the two took the lead upon a dark bay mare; the other astride a high stepping black stallion. These particular mounts had been carefully selected tonight for their ability to blend quietly into the leafy darkness that was Mirkwood by night: it would not do to attract unwanted attention with the use of their usual, lighter steeds – a dappled grey and a blue eyed cremello.

Elenath stared down at the unfamiliar pair of shoulders beneath him, watching as they moved in a smooth, undulating sequence. He shifted his weight experimentally, leaning first forwards and then backwards in the saddle, causing the leather to squeak slightly in protest. It had been long indeed since he had ridden a horse other than his cremello, and the feel of the black moving underneath him felt uncomfortable and altogether strange. The stallion felt narrow where Elenath was used to broad, and his strides were short and quick where the elf had grown accustomed to long and smooth. Where he had once felt at one with his mount, his body following unbidden the animal's movements, and his mind feeling the horse's every emotion, Elenath found now that he felt awkward and even inexperienced, as if the slightest unexpected shy from the stallion would throw him off balance. However, he had enough hours in the saddle to know that the feeling would soon pass as his body grew accustomed to the rhythm of his new mount. He felt something tickle his cheek and raised his head; as he did so lifting a hand to tuck a few wayward and still damp strands of hair behind a delicately pointed ear. At Thranduil's signal, the heavy wooden gates creaked open with a shudder. With a nod to the guards on gate duty, the pair of elves rode silently out into the night and were quickly swallowed up by the darkness.

* * *

"So, what now?" Elenath dared ask. The youngster was crouched in the leaflitter, examining an overturned pebble. Legolas had, as usual, taken great pains in concealing his trail from any would-be followers, and this was reflected in the face of the younger elf as he plucked the small stone from the leaves, turning it over and over in his hands. His eyes met the matching blue of Thranduil's, and judging by the scowl on the king's face, Elenath knew that though neither wished to admit it, they had lost track of their quarry - for now.

"We press on." The older elf's tone was strained and the other could feel the worry emanating in waves from the golden haired Elvenking. "We go…" Thranduil paused, sounding unsure as thick, shapely brows knitted once more, and he waved his hand in a vaguely southerly direction. "…That way," he finished, trying to instil in his voice a sense of confidence that he did not feel. Try as he might, he could not shake the growing feeling that something was terribly wrong. With a small sigh, he tried again to push it to the back of his mind, afraid even to acknowledge the notion, as if doing so would give it power to materialise. By the time Elenath had vaulted onto his horse, the king was already moving off at speed, and he had to urge his mount into a jog to catch up.

The moon was high in a near starless sky when Thranduil abruptly pulled his bay up, squinting at the moonlight that filtered in bright shards through the thick covering of leaves. It was late, and still they seemed no closer to finding Legolas. A low growl of frustration escaped Thranduil, and Elenath quickly wracked his brain for something to say that would lighten the mood. Of course! He would tell a few of the more savoury jokes that he had picked up in the barracks – everyone liked jokes, right?

"My lord," the young elf began tentatively, succeeding in getting the stately blond's attention. Wordlessly, Thranduil turned to face him, quirking a sculpted eyebrow as he waited for his companion to continue. Elenath, suddenly feeling a little foolish, flashed the king a lopsided grin, hoping that his tactic would work. Well, here went nothing… "An old, fat Halfling walks into a tavern. He sits down at the bar and says to the innkeeper – "

"Elenath Thalion?"

"…Aye?"

" _Do_ shut up."

* * *

The first pale rays of a rosy dawn were beginning to paint the indigo sky when it happened. Elenath felt it slam into him out of nowhere with the force of a ton of bricks: a sudden, inexplicable urge that he should absolutely, urgently, and without a doubt go _that_ way, mixed with a sensation of clawing dread. He could not explain it, and he wasted no time in trying.

"Here! It is this way!" he cried out, spurring his stallion onwards and startling Thranduil, and before he could stop himself, he twisted around in the saddle and added, "We must make haste! Something is wrong: I feel it!" Elenath clapped a hand to his mouth, eyes wide in shock at what he had just said. He stupidly hoped that Thranduil had not heard him, but as he saw the king visibly flinch, he knew that it was too late. Instead of a furious outburst though, the ancient elf merely dropped his gaze as his shoulders sagged wearily. "You too then," he murmured quietly, as if to himself. "Ai. Ai Elbereth, Elenath." And then brilliant blue eyes flashed furiously, defiantly, as the king straightened and pushed his mount into a frenzied gallop. "Ride, Elenath! Oh, by Eru, let us be in time!"


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

Legolas's eyes opened slowly and he blinked in confusion as he tried to force his blurry surroundings to make sense. Pain assaulted his consciousness, and he gasped softly, his brow furrowing in distress - however despite this, he knew that it was not what had woken him. Looking around in growing uncertainty, he realised that he was somewhere in Mirkwood, with Aragorn slumped against a tree stump beside him and snoring softly. Yet this was not the source of his awakening either. No: he could feel it in his gut and in his pounding heart, so heavy that it was all but crushing him. His mind, foggy with pain and sleep, was puzzled for a few moments before the events of the day before came rushing back - and with them a sudden terrifying awareness of what his elven senses were so desperately trying to convey to him.

A strangled scream from Legolas startled the Ranger into sudden, panicked wakefulness as the elf jerked bolt upright before doubling over in agony.

"Orcs, Aragorn! Orcs!" The prince tried to push himself up again, sending a terrified glance at the human. "They come!" Aragorn froze for a split second and then leaped to his feet, sword drawn and at the ready; eyes darting this way and that as he frantically scanned the treeline in the hopes of locating the enemy. Yet the forest was quiet, and Aragorn would have dared to hope that Legolas was merely delirious, had it not been _too_ quiet. The only sound was the deafening pounding of his own heart in his ears. "Left!" Legolas's sudden, hoarse shout broke the eerie silence, and the Ranger jumped sideways, just as with a loud _shoop_ , a black feathered arrow imbedded itself and stood quivering where he had been a mere moment ago. Tavaro, who had been standing nearby, reared and pulled back against his tether, snapping the rope in his terror and bolting with a loud snort. Feeling sweat pricking at his brow, the human exhaled a breath that he had not realised he had been holding, and shot a thankful look at the elf.

Squinting again into the gloom, Aragorn's eyes widened and he dodged, deflecting a second arrow and sending it spinning away from himself. The human swore under his breath as he spun around to face Legolas, quickly grabbing the elf's bow and slinging it over his shoulder, then snatching a handful of arrows. Archers, curse their luck. This was bad. Really bad. He had to get the elf out of range of the arrows and he had to do it fast.

"Legolas!" he whispered, his voice cracking with fear as he sheathed his sword, "Stay still and take these!" Legolas nodded wordlessly as he took the arrows in his good hand, understanding what needed to be done - though he could not hold back the cry of pain that escaped him as the Ranger scooped him up and headed for cover. "I am so sorry, _mellon-nin_ ," he heard his friend whisper, and he nodded again, eyes squeezed tightly shut in his pain.

As Aragorn reached the apparent safety of the trees, Legolas heard the human grunt and felt him stumble and almost fall, regaining his balance at the last moment. Glancing up at his friend in alarm, Legolas saw that the Ranger's face was a grimace of pain, for an arrow protruded from the human's back.

"Estel!"

"I am ….fine," the human gasped, trying to hush the elf as he quickly placed him behind the thick trunk of an ancient oak. "Stay there," he panted uselessly, causing Legolas to stare at him in growing concern.

"Aragorn, you - "

"Hush, Legolas. It is not serious." The human held up his hand, but suddenly swayed alarmingly, catching himself against the tree. "This needs to… come out," he muttered as if to himself, setting his jaw as he reached up to grab the base of the arrow. Aragorn took a deep breath, then suddenly twisted and pulled. He could not hold back a roar of pain and fury as the arrow came free and he flung it aside in disgust, sweat glistening on his brow and his breathing coming rough and fast.

"Estel! Are you - " Legolas looked fearfully up at his friend, biting the inside of his cheek against the pain as he squirmed, managing to raise himself on his elbow. Blood was running freely from the human's wound, staining the fabric of his tunic a bright, rosy red. Aragorn merely nodded, carefully pushing the elf down again and drawing Legolas's bow, nocking an arrow to the string. Pressing his back against the trunk, Aragorn cautiously peered out from behind it, jerking back with a string of curses as an arrow sailed past his nose. Shifting his position slightly, the Ranger continued to survey the opposite treeline.

"There!" Legolas heard him softly exclaim, before he let the arrow fly. The Ranger was rewarded with a loud shriek, and before the elf could stop him, the human had thrown the bow and arrows down, leaping forward into a dead sprint, sword glinting in the dappled sunlight. "Elendiiiiiil!" Legolas succeeded in pushing himself upright again and watched in horror as four large orcs rushed into the clearing to meet the human.

Within seconds, Aragorn had collided with the orcs, and sparks flew as metal clashed against metal in a seething, boiling mass of chaos. The Ranger parried, dodged right, kicked, and struck left, and the first orc went down, clutching hopelessly at its belly as its innards spilled out through a gaping hole. Aragorn parried again and spun around, swinging his sword low, where it connected with the shins of a second orc, severing bone and flesh, and the dying creature fell to the ground with a loud wail. Without losing momentum, the human spun again, connecting with an orc's throat this time in a spray of black blood. _Three down. Only one left now._ Deftly twirling his sword, Aragorn squared up to face the last orc - a large, hulking beast with a huge scar that disfigured its already hideous face. The Ranger found himself idly wondering whether it was even possible for such a creature to actually look any fouler, but he had no time to decide, for suddenly the monster was upon him. Their blades clashed furiously and the force of the impact sent the human stumbling backwards as pain flared in his back.

Without realising it, Aragorn had stepped over the body of the orc whom he had earlier disabled, and two things happened almost at once. Still alive, the creature howled with glee as, with the last of its energy, it stabbed the human in the leg - ripping its blade down and across the calf muscle as the Ranger leaped away in alarm; frantically parrying a downward swing from the other orc as he did so, then attempting to sidestep away. Unable to put weight on the leg though, he faltered for a moment. And unfortunately for the human, a moment was all that the attacking orc needed to plunge a blade into the Ranger's side. With a soft gasp of surprise, Aragorn sank to his knees, a hand clasped to the wound and blood already gushing forth from between his fingers. White knuckled, the human held his sword defensively in front of himself as his world spun sickeningly and greyed out at the edges. The last thing he saw was the orc's sneering face as it circled him, before his consciousness fled, and he toppled face first into the ground.

"Over here!" The orc froze in its tracks, instantly alert; searching. Its predatory gaze fixed upon the oak tree, and a slow, sadistic smile spread across twisted features as the creature remembered the obviously injured elf. But then the arrow hit it square between the eyes and the beast crashed over backwards, felled like a tree; the stupid grin still frozen upon its face.

Curling up in agony, Legolas dropped the bow and rocked back and forth in utter torment, though this only seemed to make it worse. He could scarcely believe that he had made the shot, and he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the forest for granting him the strength. Willing the terrible spasms to abate, Legolas straightened with a groan and steeled himself for what he was about to do. Aragorn needed him and he could not - _would not_ \- let his friend down. Not here, not now. After a few deep, calming breaths, Legolas closed his eyes and, using the tree trunk for support, he pulled himself to his feet in one swift moment. At once his vision went black and he would have fallen but for the oak, and he distantly heard the mighty tree rustle its leaves in distress at his condition. He clung fervently to the bark as, wracked with pain, his trembling body threatened to give into unconsciousness.

Despite his best efforts though, a wave of nausea washed over him, stealing what remained of his strength, and Legolas felt his legs buckle. _No! Not now! Aragorn, I have to - !_ Just as his consciousness began to give out, the elf felt something break his fall. He heard a rich, deep voice calling his name, and a pulse of energy shot through him, restoring his senses. His brow creasing as with the return of his awareness, so too came the return of pain, Legolas realised that his saviour had been none other the mighty old oak. A stray branch was wrapped securely, yet gently around him, and it was from this that a strange, healing energy emanated in visible, greenish blue ripples, enveloping his body in a softly glowing, rejuvenating aura. Gazing up at the branches in wonderment, Legolas knew that the tree had sensed his plight and had decided to aid him.

As the tendrils of life force flowed forth and dissipated over his skin with a buzzing, prickling feeling, Legolas felt his strength grow and his pain fade, and he bowed his head in reverence. _Thank you, you know not what your actions mean to me - I must help him._ _Truly, I thank you, for without your help I had feared I may not have been able. I only hope that he yet lives._ With a knowing rumble, the branch slowly uncurled from about the elf, and the tree was as silent and still as if nothing had ever happened. Finding his support suddenly gone, Legolas reeled and pitched forward, but he quickly recovered, grabbing the tree and glancing anxiously at Aragorn as he did so. The Ranger lay still and bleeding on the ground, and tentatively Legolas closed his eyes and reached forth with his mind, trying to sense the Ranger's energy. For a moment, the elf went cold, but then he felt it - the Ranger was indeed alive! Legolas couldn't help it - he smiled slightly with relief. _Stubborn human._ However, he needed to reach his friend fast, or the Ranger would surely bleed out.

Releasing the oak, Legolas took a deep breath and staggered forwards in the direction of Aragorn's bedroll, where he knew the Ranger's pack to be. He winced as pain swamped his senses, but set his jaw and pushed through it - and thanks to the tree's help, the elf was able to reach his destination and grab the pack with shaking fingers. Checking on Aragorn again, he was horrified to find his friend's energy fading fast, and desperately he willed his friend to endure - to have hope - for just a little longer. "Aragorn, I come!" he cried, though of course he knew that, deeply unconscious, the human could not hear him. The Ranger's energy faded further, and Legolas felt panic rise within him, bringing a surge of adrenaline that enabled him to force his body into a jog.

Finally reaching the fallen Aragorn, Legolas fell on his knees beside his friend with a loud moan of pain as his body was cruelly jarred. "Estel, I am here!" Legolas placed his hands softly on the Ranger's shoulders, trying to impart some of his life force into the human, who lay face down in a growing pool of his own blood. Tears pricked at the corners of Legolas's eyes as, preparing himself for the worst, he rolled Aragorn over.

He gasped loudly despite himself, for the human was so covered with blood that the elf was not initially sure where it was all coming from. Soon though, he found the deep gash in the Ranger's side, and quickly pressed one hand firmly over the wound, while with the other he rummaged through the pack in search of bandages. Finding what he sought, Legolas bound the Ranger's midsection as tightly as he could, immensely relieved when no further blood gushed forth. Unfortunately, this relief proved to be his undoing: his immediate goal now accomplished, Legolas felt his strength evaporate and pain crashed down upon him with such intensity that he couldn't help it - he screamed as he fell forwards, landing on Aragorn's chest. "Aragorn!" he gasped, clutching at the Ranger's hand as the blackness rose to engulf him once more. _No! No, I cannot lose consciousness now! I need to…_ Legolas could not complete the thought before his senses abandoned him, and his head lolled limply against the human's chest.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

The black stallion came suddenly and so forcefully to a sliding stop that Elenath was very nearly flung from the saddle, yet he was saved as he collided painfully with the saddle horn, knocking the breath from his lungs. Gasping for air and his eyes watering, the young warrior righted himself and turned to look at the king, clutching his navel area. The Elvenking's horse had done the same manoeuvre, yet the ever-dignified Thranduil seemed unflustered as always, merely cocking an eyebrow at the youngster. Shaking his head and taking a deep breath as the pain receded, Elenath cast his eyes anxiously about them, wondering what had triggered the sudden reactions of their mounts. Soon, he figured it out.

"Thranduil!" Elenath exclaimed, in his haste forgetting all formality, "My lord! Hoofbeats! Someone approaches!" In one swift flourish, Elenath had drawn his bow and nocked an arrow. Thranduil's hand gripped the pommel of his sword, ready to pull the weapon free of its scabbard in an instant should he need to. Several tense seconds passed, and turned to a good half minute as, frozen and poised to attack, the elves waited. And then it happened, causing both of them to gasp in surprise, for a horse burst forth from the shadows in a flurry of tan and black, riderless and altogether terrified. Its heaving sides were bathed in white, and its eyes seemed to blaze red. The horse's halter trailed a broken rope, and as the animal passed him, Elenath reflexively lunged, managing to gain a firm hold. The frightened animal did not stop however, and Elenath was wrenched from the saddle and dragged for several paces over the forest floor before the horse came to a stop, snorting and blowing.

"Tavaro!" Thranduil had leapt from his mount and grabbed the horse's halter – it had been he who had stopped the stallion's flight. "Ai Elbereth." The Elvenking stooped to pull Elenath to his feet, yet his eyes never left Legolas's horse as he whispered softly to the animal in an attempt to calm him.

Elenath brushed the majority of the leaves and twigs from his hair, blinked the sand from his eyes, and carefully shook out his limbs, thankful that he had not been injured. He was very aware of what could have happened had he been trampled or kicked. Elenath's black stallion pawed at the ground and whickered loudly in greeting to the newcomer, and the warrior hushed him gently as he placed a soothing hand on Tavaro's neck. The horse seemed a lot calmer and was no longer trembling – whatever Thranduil had said to him must have helped. The Elvenking stood now with one hand on Tavaro's forehead and the other over his own face. He did not speak, yet Elenath could feel the slew of frantic, terrified emotions that emanated from the older elf with such intensity that they were almost tangible. Tentatively, he reached forth and placed a hand lightly on the king's shoulder, causing Thranduil to startle slightly. Elenath could feel that he was shaking, and when the Elvenking spoke, his voice was thick with grief.

"We are too late –" Thranduil's voice cracked and trailed off as if he were attempting to hold back a sob.

Confused, Elenath frowned, wondering why the king would jump to such a conclusion. He took a deep breath and squeezed the king's shoulder, knowing full well that with Thranduil's mercurial personality, this may have consequences that… well, he would rather not think about right now. The firm touch seemed to rouse the elf from his state, for his head snapped up, his hand dropping from his face as he spun around to face Elenath, his expression unreadable and then changing to deep sadness. "The horse would not leave Legolas. For them to be separated… We are too late."

The younger elf frowned, determined to go through with this.

"No! I refuse to believe that, that just because he has become separated from Tavaro he is…" Elenath pursed his lips, unable to utter the word. "The horse is but a youngster still, and his training is not yet complete – youngsters are prone to skittishness, you know this!" Elenath realised that his voice had raised with raw emotion, and he coughed, continuing softly. "Do not abandon hope." He fixed his eyes on the older elf's sorrowful blue orbs. "I will find him, Thranduil. I will find him if it kills me."

A few moments passed in silence, until the hush was broken by a soft, defeated sigh, but the elf lord said nothing, his gaze averted. Elenath pursed his lips in frustration and subconsciously gave the king's shoulder a slight shake. "Have hope. Come what may, we will weather this storm together. Let us have faith in Legolas and let not us abandon him in his hour of need – " Elenath's eyes widened as he realised the implications of this statement, and he at once fell to his knees. "My lord, forgive me! I did not mean to suggest that – "

"Nay, Elenath, get up. You have done me no wrong – perhaps you are even right." Thranduil smiled slightly as he extended an arm and helped Elenath to his feet, though his eyes held no joy. "We will press on, until whatever end." Elenath bowed his head before taking Tavaro's lead rope and bending to help the king mount.

Turning to secure the rope to the pommel of his own saddle, Elenath paused as he had a thought.

"My lord!"

"Aye, Elenath?" Thranduil sounded weary; unsure.

"I will ride Tavaro! I am willing to bet that he will lead us to Legolas! And, I am sorry to ask this of you, but could you take care of Moth for me? I do not wish to hamper Tavaro." Thranduil nodded, and Elenath thought he saw the slightest bit of relief in the older elf's features as he did so. Wasting no time, Elenath swapped the halter onto Moth, the black stallion, and put the bridle onto Tavaro. After handing the rope to Thranduil, he vaulted lightly onto Tavaro's back. It was as if Tavaro had understood Elenath earlier, for the young elf had hardly taken up the reins before the horse had taken off at a gallop, leaving his rider with no choice but to cling tightly to his back, hands fisted in the long black mane.

It seemed like hours that Tavaro ran, raw, unchecked power surging forth beneath Elenath. Just as the elf was certain that he would lose his grip on the horse's flanks and fall, the dun stallion slowed and drew to a halt with a low, fearful snort. Hearing Thranduil draw up behind him, Elenath looked around in confusion as he tried to work out why the horse had stopped. Seeing nothing, he lightly asked the horse to walk on, but the young stallion would not – instead pawing the ground in agitation and eventually rearing up when Elenath continued to ask. Sharp black hooves pawed desperately as if the very air meant to choke him, and a startled Elenath calmed the horse before dropping to the ground with a sigh and tethering his mount to a tree.

"He will go no further – let us continue on foot." Thranduil nodded, his forehead creased with worry and his mouth a thin line as he dismounted and helped Elenath to tie the remaining two horses. Before turning, the young elf thoughtfully removed the healing supplies from their saddles and tucked them into his pack, quickly shouldering it.

Carefully readying his bow, Elenath watched as Thranduil pulled his sword from its sheath and they began to cautiously pick their way forwards through the undergrowth. Soon, Elenath began to feel it, and judging by the stiffness in the king's movements, Thranduil felt it too: there was something deeply unsettling about this part of the forest, but Elenath could not quite put his finger on what exactly it was. Nodding in acknowledgement to each other, the elves continued to move, fingers tightening around their weapons. "Orcs!" At the same moment that Thranduil's whisper broke the silence, low and urgent, Elenath smelled it: blood. "Be on your guard!"

Several long minutes of palpable tension passed as the elves walked, until Thranduil raised his hand in a silent order to halt. Elenath saw it before the Elvenking had pointed it out: up ahead was a small clearing, sunlight stabbing through the canopy in bright, blinding shards and blocking the area from further view. Both sensing, _knowing_ that this was the place, Elenath and Thranduil quickened their paces but they did not run, not wishing to draw attention to themselves, for only Eru knew what lay in that clearing. A sudden cry of anguish from Thranduil told Elenath that the king's eyes had been the first to adapt, and an alarmed Elenath had no choice but to follow blindly as the Elvenking abandoned all stealth and charged forwards toward the light. His full vision suddenly returning as they neared the clearing, Elenath too cried out, overtaking the older elf and rushing headlong into the sunlight. Momentarily stunned by the full magnitude of what he saw, Elenath could only stand there blinking numbly as he took in the scene before him. Several orc corpses lay strewn over the ground in pools of sticky darkness that stained the surrounding leaflitter a vile black. Their abandoned blades caught the light and refracted it in sharp beams that dazzled Elenath's sensitive eyes, and he raised a hand to shield them as he let out a shaky breath. Here and there were patches of bright red blood that contrasted sharply with the foul blackness, and Elenath would never forget what they led to. Two figures lay deathly still in the clearing – soaked with blood, yet unmistakeably Legolas and Aragorn.

Beside him, Thranduil had come to a stop, an audible gasp escaping his lips, and Elenath watched as if in a dream as the king took several halting steps forward before breaking into a run once more. Dazed, to Elenath it all seemed to happen in slow motion as he willed his uncooperative legs to move. With a howl of anguish, Thranduil's legs suddenly gave way beneath him and he sank to the ground beside the two prone forms. The sound somehow snapped Elenath from his stupor, and in a few strides he was at the king's side, assessing the situation with as much calm as he could muster. There was blood, so much blood. Aragorn lay sprawled on his back, and lying over him as if he had fallen there, was Legolas. He vaguely heard something that sounded like a distant, keening sob come from Thranduil as he tentatively reached forward and placed two fingers against the groove of Legolas's neck. As he silently held his breath and waited. And waited. And desperately pushed his fingers into the skin. Searching. Oh Eru, please let it –

"Thranduil! Thranduil, he lives!" Reluctantly taking his eyes off Legolas, Elenath quickly checked the Ranger. "Aragorn too! _Thranduil_!" Again not hearing a response from the other elf, the young warrior turned to look at the king, frowning. Thranduil was doubled over Legolas, stroking his son's hair hypnotically – it was clear that he had not even heard Elenath. His lips moved wordlessly and his eyes were glassy, and though he rocked slightly back and forth, Elenath could see that he was trembling. Face contorting in sympathy, the younger elf reached out and gripped the king's shoulders, shaking them roughly until Thranduil's head snapped up, his expression blank but then turning to terrible fury.

"Legolas! He lives! They both live!" Elenath knew that he had to act fast before the king's rage could take form. Thranduil's face lost all expression and he blinked, and then in an instant he seemed to return to himself, lunging over Legolas with such speed that Elenath was knocked backwards.

"Elenath, the healing supplies! We will move Legolas and I will attend to him and you to Aragorn! Make haste!"


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

Warm and dark, wrapping his consciousness like a comforting swathe. He floated there alone, formless and yet content in the endless void. He could not say why, but somehow this nothingness felt right, as if all in the world was well and as it should be. For what seemed like infinity, he just allowed himself to drift there, free of pain and of the burden of a corporeal self. Safe and so incredibly at ease just to _be_.

Until slowly he became aware of something, encroaching unwanted on the edges of his sanctuary. It was trying to draw him out. _No._ Instinctively he turned away from it, wishing to remain here for even a little longer, but whatever it was was persistent, growing more and more intense by the second. It surrounded him, pulling and tugging ceaselessly at his consciousness; determined to unravel its layers of asylum. No matter how hard he tried to get away from it, it seemed as though he only succeeded in moving ever closer to it. It wanted him to go with it, and he sensed that he would not be able to resist for much longer. Eventually, once the intruder had become a screaming, overwhelming force, consuming the void and filling it with light, he surrendered his will. He watched, helpless, as his refuge grew brighter and brighter until it burned with the light of a thousand suns and all was lost.

Legolas groaned loudly as his awareness was assaulted by pain and … _birdsong_. Ai Valar, why were there birds in his bed and why did everything hurt so much? Maybe they had set upon him and pecked him whilst he had slept. He forced his heavy eyes to open and immediately regretted it, squinting in confusion at the bright sunlight that streamed in through the open window. That must be where the birdsong was coming from too. Maybe they had flown out upon his awakening. But why were the birds singing in the middle of the night? And why was it so _bright_? These must be strange times indeed, Legolas decided warily, that the sun should shine when it should be dark – and come to think of it, it was not even his own room in which he lay, either. Clearly this was all just a very strange, and altogether incredibly vivid dream, and he would tell Elenath about it over breakfast and they would both laugh. Right now though, his head hurt, along with everything else. _Really hurt_. Legolas let his eyes close again, electing to sleep this off and hoping he would feel better in the morning. Oh, he should not have had so much wine at last night's party!

As he felt sleep arriving to claim him, Legolas became aware of a weight on his legs. Stupid birds must have gotten back in through the window and sat on him the moment his eyes closed! Groaning again in annoyance and battling with his eyes to comply, the young elf strained to look down at his legs. Why, oh why had his father let the birds in? With a grunt of effort, Legolas managed to raise himself painfully on an elbow, and he finally gained a look at what lay on his legs.

A soft curse escaped the elf as he became instantly lucid at the sight before him. Aragorn was slumped over him, the Ranger's head buried in the human's folded arms which rested upon the prince's legs. The rest of the man was draped uncomfortably over a hard wooden chair that faced the bed, with the human's waist twisted awkwardly sideways in order to allow his long legs to stretch out haphazardly across the floor. Despite this position however, Aragorn had somehow fallen asleep, though Legolas saw that his face was drawn and lined with pain. Suddenly panicking as he remembered the last time that he had seen his friend, the elf lunged forwards, frantically grabbing at the Ranger.

"Aragorn!"

At the sound of his name, the human bolted upright with a start, giving a loud cry as his injuries protested the sudden movement. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he drew a few deep breaths in order to gain control of himself, before smiling warmly as his eyes met Legolas's.

"Estel!" the elf gasped out through clenched teeth, "Estel, are you – "

"Hush, Legolas." Aragorn leaned over stiffly and gently eased his friend back against the pillows. "All is well, _mellon-nin_. We are in the healing wing of the palace. You have been unconscious since yesterday. Elenath tells me that Tavaro led him and your father to you." Legolas immediately blanched at the mention of his father, but then he frowned and opened his mouth to say something, however Aragorn, guessing what it was, cut him off before he could speak. "Aye, Legolas. I am – will be – fine. …You saved my life." His voice was soft and husky with emotion. "If it had not been for you…"

Whatever it was that Aragorn had been about to say was cut off by a sudden commotion in the hallway, and both he and Legolas looked up as two raven haired elves burst into the room.

"Las, you are awake! Estel!" Elenath was the first to reach the Ranger, placing gentle hands on the human's shoulders and forcing him to look the elf in the eyes. "Lanthir told you _not_ to get out of bed!" he admonished. "With the severity of your injuries, you cannot just – " Aragorn heaved an annoyed sigh at the young warrior and attempted to shrug his hands away, turning to nod sheepishly at the healer who was checking on Legolas.

"Lanthir." The healer paused long enough in his ministrations to shoot a scowl at the human.

"Elenath, would you _please_ help him back to bed? I will not have my visit from Lórien include bearing witness to the end of the line of Numenor." Lanthir's tone was firm, yet his grey eyes betrayed his amusement. Aragorn stiffened and fixed the healer with a steely look.

"No, Lanthir. I must remain here for Legolas!" The blond elf looked over at the human and rolled his eyes (once he was sure that the Ranger was occupied arguing with Lanthir), but said nothing.

"Estel! Do not be absurd! Your bed is just across the room…" Lanthir was incredulous.

"No." Aragorn folded his arms and attempted to hide the wince as he did so. He set his jaw, his gaze resolute. "I cannot adequately see from across the room. I must be here, especially whilst you tend to Legolas." Seeing the elf prince flinch and shut his eyes as Lanthir drew back the blankets over his middle, Aragorn leaned in to grab Legolas's hand tightly in support, gritting his teeth and glaring at Lanthir as he did so. Opening his eyes again, Legolas eyed his friend in concern as he saw through the Ranger's attempt at hiding his pain. Elenath simply stood silent and looked daggers at both of them, unsure how to proceed. He was not sure that he wanted to attempt forcing the Ranger into bed, regardless of the human's current state.

"Lanthir." Legolas stopped, hissing in pain as the healer started on his bandages. He needed to do something about the situation at hand, and fast – for he knew his friend well enough to tell that he was in a great deal more pain than what he would have them believe. "What about if we have his bed moved up beside mine? Valar, Estel, do not look at me like that! You need rest too. It is a miracle that you are even here! I saw, Aragorn. I saw it all, and that blade nearly went clean through you." He paused again to catch his breath, looking pale. Recovering, he fixed Aragorn with the most princely look that he could muster. "Back into bed, Estel, and then I wish to hear from Lanthir all about your injuries." Aragorn looked as if he were about to protest, but Lanthir raised a hand to silence him.

"An excellent idea, if it means that this stubborn human finally gets some rest." The dark haired healer tried valiantly to keep the smirk from his face, but he was not sure how well he succeeded in this endeavour. "He really is Isildur's heir," Legolas and Aragorn heard him mutter, and the prince's eyebrows shot up in amusement while the human blushed and stared at his hands. "Elenath, would you be so kind?"

"Already attending," came Elenath's voice from the far side of the room, followed by the squeak of moving furniture. Lanthir turned his attention back to Legolas, gently pushing Aragorn's hands aside as the healer within the human commanded him to attend to his elven friend at all costs. Carefully unravelling the bandages from around Legolas's midriff, the older elf ran his hands gently over the bruised skin there, causing the prince to squirm in discomfort and take in his breath sharply. Aragorn turned anxious eyes on Lanthir, squeezing his friend's hand firmly in solidarity.

"How is he?" he asked softly.

"He is sore." At this, Legolas sighed loudly, wishing that Lanthir would not out him to everyone in the room. The healer took no notice, continuing to work as he spoke. "And he will remain so for some time. But he is healing." Lanthir turned then with a kind smile as he addressed the human. "You have done well with him, Estel. You have the gratitude of us all. Now then." The elf straightened to his full height as Elenath returned, pushing a bed. "Estel." He inclined his head in the bed's direction, and Aragorn sighed, knowing his time was up. The Ranger glanced quickly at Legolas, and when the prince nodded at him, Aragorn returned the gesture before swiftly pushing himself upright.

The human's face drained of all colour and he faltered, but Elenath, anticipating the Ranger, already had a firm grip on his shoulder and upper back and prevented him from falling – much to Legolas's relief.

"Easy," the raven haired elf murmured, rubbing a gentle circle over the human's back as Aragorn sucked in huge lungfuls of air, his legs shaking uncontrollably. He stumbled again, and Legolas cried out in alarm but it was lost amidst the deafening roar that had suddenly taken up residence in Aragorn's head. The Ranger felt his stomach lurch. "Easy, Estel. Almost there…"

"Elenath! I'm going to be – " he gasped out, before abruptly passing out in the warrior's arms.

"Ai Elbereth. No, _wait_ , Legolas!" Lanthir pushed back the panicky elf prince before darting over to Elenath and checking the human's vitals as he helped the younger elf to settle the Ranger into the bed. "Valar, Legolas! I said _wait_! Aragorn is fine; you are going to damage yourself further if you try to get up! Your human friend is merely stubborn and stupid. He will come around shortly." Legolas stopped struggling at this, and after making sure that Aragorn was not bleeding, the healer turned back to the prince as Elenath pulled the covers up around the Ranger.

Lanthir resumed tending to Legolas, while Elenath hovered between him and the human, assisting the healer where he could.

"Lanthir, 'Nath." Legolas addressed the other elves tiredly, "Aragorn was gravely wounded in battle. I do not know what he has told you, but I know what I saw. He will be alright, yes?" Feeling his friend's anguish, Elenath shot him a look of sympathy, and Lanthir spoke without pausing in his ministrations.

"Aye, Legolas. I believe he will be. Somehow, the blade missed his vitals and we have stitched the site. Due to the wound's location, it really is imperative that he not move around – no heroics this time, I mean it. The arrow wound and injury to his leg are less severe, but he will not be able to put weight on the limb for several weeks. Between the two of you, you will be spending a lot of time in bed for days - or even weeks - to come. During this time, we will need to keep a close watch for infection, but you ought both to be back to your usual selves eventually. Until the next time, at any rate." Lanthir chuckled ruefully and Legolas couldn't help the smile that lit up his face, nor the way his eyes suddenly filled with unshed tears of relief. He quickly blinked them back, hoping that nobody had noticed.

"Ah, _penneth_." Lanthir put a tender hand on the prince's head and Elenath smiled. "You have done us proud. Elenath has told me of the state you two were in when you were found – you really did save that man's life."

"Thank you, Lanthir," Legolas looked away, embarrassed, and bit back a groan as the healer worked over the gash in his arm. Finishing his task, Lanthir smiled at Legolas and turned kind grey eyes on Elenath as he placed a hand on the raven haired warrior's shoulder.

"Elenath, I must tend to Estel now. Could you re-dress Legolas's wounds for me, please?"

"Of course." Elenath nodded and moved to stand beside his friend, where he plucked a clean roll of bandage from the pile that lay on the nightstand. As he worked, he kept up a steady stream of conversation with Legolas – in part to distract the other elf from the pain, and in part also because he was so relieved to have his friend back alive.

"I still cannot believe how it is that we found you, Las," he mused quietly, "You have a special friend in that horse – never forget it." Legolas nodded in acknowledgement and tried to smile, but he was beginning to feel incredibly drowsy. He yawned, and attempted to raise a hand to cover his mouth, but grunted in discomfort and lowered the offending limb.

"I am finished here; why not get some rest?" Elenath spoke softly, leaning in to rearrange the pillows before drawing the blankets up to his friend's chin.

"Aye, alright 'Nath," Legolas agreed, "…Thank you." The ghost of a smile flitted across the prince's face as his eyes slid closed with a sigh and he surrendered himself into healing sleep.

Soft sounds stirred Legolas from his slumber. He was alone in the room except for the sleeping figure of Aragorn in the bed beside him, he noticed. The Ranger was breathing evenly and seemed at peace, and it made the elf glad. As he lay there, he identified the sounds that had awoken him as the hollow ring of boots on stone floors – growing progressively louder, which meant that they were headed this way. With a sinking feeling of dread, Legolas realised they were not just any pair of boots either, and he had just enough time to close his eyes and feign sleep before Thranduil surged into the room, immediately making for the bed.

"Legolas!?" The king sounded slightly breathless, as if he had been running. "They told me that you were awake. I came as fast as I could." Legolas tried to concentrate on his breathing, focusing on keeping it slow and even. He hoped that Thranduil would buy his charade, for while he knew that eventually he would have to face his father, right now he had not the energy for a fight. His stomach clenched nervously. _Just breathe._

"Legolas?" Thranduil tried again, but his voice was quieter now; unsure. _Focus, Legolas. Keep breathing. In and out. Slowly. In… Out._ He heard the Elvenking give a soft sigh. "Ai, it seems I have missed you." Another sigh, followed by the sound of Thranduil shifting, and Legolas hoped that his father would leave. Instead though, he felt the king pause, and then heard the scraping of furniture being shifted over the floor. Legolas assumed it to be a chair being pulled up to the bed, and fervently hoped that the noise would not wake Aragorn. His suspicions were confirmed when the noise stopped and he heard Thranduil sit and make himself comfortable. Silence again, and then Legolas had to force himself not to stiffen as a hand came to rest on his forehead. Not now, not now! _Just leave me to sleep, please!_ Legolas felt his heartrate quicken, and consciously willed himself to relax. He could not afford to blow his cover, and the idea of being subjected to his father's shouting in his current state was enough to make him feel physically ill. He felt sweat pricking at his skin as his anxiety mounted. _Just. Breathe._

The hand began slowly to stroke through his hair, and Legolas nearly started, for the touch was so incredibly, uncharacteristically gentle. And then Thranduil began to speak, and his voice was heavy and filled with emotion, without a trace of the anger that Legolas had been so certain was coming.

"My little leaf." The hand moved from his head to clasp his good shoulder, as if in doing so Thranduil sought strength to continue. "I thought that I had lost you." The Elvenking's voice caught slightly and the elf drew a long, deep breath before continuing so softly that Legolas had to strain to catch the words. "I was so worried. So scared, Legolas. For a time, I had to face the thought of a future without you, my leaf." Long pause. Legolas fought the urge to open his eyes, to see for himself that this must be some cruel joke – for he could not imagine his quick tempered father saying these words. "And, I could not. My entire world stopped when I saw you lying there, so still, so pale. I thought for sure you were… Legolas, a future without you would be no future at all." The hand on his shoulder tightened its grip, and the prince could feel the desperation and pain pouring from it in waves. "Little leaf, you are the reason I continue in this world. Through everything that would seek to destroy me, you are my light. To lose you, I – Oh! How I wish that you could understand how much you truly mean to me. Maybe then, you would not be so determined to… Nay." Thranduil sighed heavily. "Nay, I am a fool, for it is I who cannot find the words to tell you. To make you understand why it is that I do the things that I do. I do them nought but for love, my son, for my only wish is to keep you safe."

Thranduil choked out a sound that was somewhere between a sob and bitter laughter. "Oh Eru, and in that I have failed. I have failed so utterly and spectacularly, and I have nearly lost that which is most dear to me in all the world. For what is a father if he cannot keep his family from harm? A failure, that is what. Oh, but what a blessed failure I am, for here you are before me, alive, and the healers assure me that you will make a fine recovery. What a blessed, foolish failure I am indeed. And oh, how extraordinarily grateful too. Legolas, I am sorry – you truly deserve better than I." And Thranduil bent over the bed, laid his head upon his folded arms, and wept brokenly. Had he chanced to look up, he would have seen his tears mirrored, leaking from Legolas's eyes as the prince finally allowed himself to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was challenging to write, and I really hope that I managed to accurately convey Thranduil's feelings. In my head he's this conflicted parent who loves his son to the point of obsession due to trauma he's been through, and even though he's well meaning and loves his son hugely, he isn't able to express it in a healthy way. He has moments where he can reflect and understand what he's doing and why it's damaging his relationship with his son, but he struggles to change his default behaviour and it leaves him with a lot of guilt over his shortcomings as a parent.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

"Estel, you are cheating! I saw you hide that card up your sleeve!"

"What card?" Aragorn turned his most innocent look on the indignant elven prince.

"The one up your sleeve!" Legolas fixed the human with a mock glare and stiffly folded his arms. Three days later and the elf was feeling a lot better. Unfortunately, he remained confined to the healing wing and he felt as though it was slowly driving him mad. "Go on, pull it up! Pull it up, I dare you, Estel!"

"Fine." Aragorn smirked as he pushed up his sleeves and raised his arms, chuckling at the look of utter confusion on his friend's face. "See, Legolas, there is no card here."

"But I saw…" Legolas trailed off, his expression changing into what was clearly a pout. "You are cheating, I know it!"

"Ah, my friend, you wound me. To imply that I would commit such a heinous crime. Mayhap, Legolas, you are merely terrible at cards." _That ought to do it._ Aragorn chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mirth. Unluckily, the Ranger was not fast enough to dodge the swift cuff aimed at the back of his head. "Alright, I yield, I yield! It is under the blanket!" The human sheepishly pulled out the offending card and Legolas shrieked with glee as he snatched it and promptly added it to his own hand. The very picture of smugness, the elf then turned the cards face up on the bed.

"Do you see what that is, Estel?" he crowed in delight, "That, my foolish friend, is a set. Perhaps it is you who is so bad at cards that he feels the need to _cheat_?" Legolas could not wipe the grin from his face, despite the pain that his merriment still brought upon him.

Aragorn continued to smirk though, now clearly struggling not to laugh, and gestured to the card which Legolas had taken from him.

"And this?" Legolas's smile faltered for a brief moment, before it was back, and looking even more haughty than before as the prince confidently waved Aragorn off.

"Does not count."

" _Does not count?_ Legolas, have you finally lost that pigheaded elven brain of yours?" Aragorn gave in to laughter, enjoying their banter.

"Do not make me get out of this bed, Strider."

"Nobody is getting out of any beds!" A booming voice from the doorway startled the pair and they turned guilty faces on the newcomer.

"Ah, Lanthir…" For once, Legolas looked lost for words. "I did not see you there…"

"Yes, that part is quite evident." The dark-haired elf tried not to show his amusement as he strode across the room. "Now, I need to examine the two of you. Who will go first?"

As the day progressed, Legolas grew more frustrated by the hour. Aragorn, being human and thus slower to heal, spent most of his time sleeping, and this left Legolas practically climbing the walls in vexation. To make matters even worse, Lanthir and the other healers insisted on checking in on them often, effectively preventing the elf from attempting any sort of escape. He knew that Elenath was due to visit the healing wing once his military duties were complete, and Legolas clung to the anticipation, hoping that it would somehow get him through the day.

His stomach growled and a sharp pang of hunger shot through him, and Legolas was again reminded that he had not been allowed to eat since the accident. Huffing in dismay, he wished forlornly for something to eat other than the paltry broths he had been offered so far. _Strawberry pastries._ What he would not give for one of the sweet delights. Letting out a loud sigh, Legolas put down the book he had been attempting to read, and decided that he would attempt to sleep away his misery.

"Legolas?" With a frown, the young elf blinked his eyes into focus and saw that Thranduil stood in the doorway. He held back a groan of annoyance, for his father was still the last person whom he wished to see. Despite having been briefly in and out of the room over the past few days, the Elvenking had not brought up the incident and Legolas knew that sooner or later it was going to happen. The not knowing made him anxious and he wished his father would simply get it over with.

"Ah, you are awake." Thranduil sounded pleased. "And it makes me glad to see that your eyes were not closed in sleep this time."

"Aye, I am much improved." Legolas shifted so that he was sitting upright against the pillows and suppressed a wince. Despite his improvement, it still hurt to move. "Nevertheless, they will not let me out of here..."

"Yes, well…" Thranduil seemed distracted, suddenly needing to smooth out the non-existent creases in his robes. "Legolas, we must speak." Legolas sighed. _And so it begins._

"Legolas, I…" Thranduil started, and then hesitated as if he was unsure how to continue.

"What?!" Legolas instantly regretted that, inwardly cringing at how defensive and sharp his tone had been. Too late, for Thranduil's expression had already hardened.

"You disobeyed me." The king's eyes flashed and Legolas's heart sank. "Why?" At this, the younger elf felt his ire rise. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, holding it as he tried to curb his instinct to retaliate.

"Legolas, I asked you a question." A surge of anger flooded over Legolas as he raised his eyes to meet his father's. His hands were balled into fists under the blankets, which he clenched and unclenched as he fought with his emotions.

"I wished to ride." Legolas tossed his head defiantly as he spoke, again immediately frustrated by his own actions. He of all people knew how futile it was to provoke his father, but when Thranduil used that tone, it brought forth a reaction in the prince that the young elf struggled to control.

"You _what_? Legolas, is this some kind of joke to you?" Thranduil's eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and Legolas knew that he ought to pick his next words carefully.

"I wished merely to take some time for myself…" This was not going to end well, he knew.

"Valar, Legolas!" Thranduil roared, and lashed out, hitting the door with a loud crack that caused Aragorn to bolt upright in bed with a cry of alarm. The human looked wildly around the room, clutching his side and panting.

Legolas glared at his father and reached over to reassure his friend, placing a hand on the Ranger's shoulder and speaking softly to him. Thranduil sighed and nodded at Aragorn, seeming to deflate as he dragged a hand through his hair. He turned to leave, but then paused and retrieved a wrapped package from his pocket, which he dropped on the nightstand.

"Here," he said stiffly, "The healers said you could have this. And Legolas, do _not_ let this happen again or you will not like the consequences." With that, the Elvenking swiftly turned and swept out of the room.

"What was that about?" Aragorn, still holding his side, grimaced and looked at his friend in concern. Legolas shrugged distractedly in response, not making eye contact with the human as he stared out into the hallway, obviously troubled. "Let me guess – "

"Not now, Aragorn." Legolas sighed heavily and shook his head before giving the Ranger a sad half smile. "Forgive me; I just do not wish to speak of it."

"I understand, there is nothing to forgive." Aragorn shifted in order to get more comfortable, and his eyes caught the still-wrapped package. "Should we open that? I for one am curious." The human grinned and Legolas chuckled, his mood lightening.

"Curiosity killed the human." Legolas smirked, knowing and appreciating what his friend was doing. "But fine – if it is filled with snakes then _you_ shall deal with them." Aragorn laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of the elf's statement, and Legolas reached for the parcel, suddenly becoming sombre as he turned it over in his hands. It was wrapped in brown paper and patches of oil showed through in places, turning patches of the thin paper translucent. A wonderful aroma drifted up from it, and Aragorn couldn't hide his amusement as a visibly dumbfounded Legolas pulled out a strawberry pastry and blinked in disbelief.

"Ai Valar, Adar…" Aragorn heard him mutter softly, and though the elf quickly looked away, it was not before the human had seen the hint of moisture that suddenly shimmered in his eyes.

* * *

Legolas sighed again as he listened to the soft snores emanating from the human's bed. Though the hour was late, sleep would not come to him and he was growing more restless by the moment. He bit back a groan of frustration and resumed staring at the ceiling, watching the way that the smooth stone began to transform in the gloom, forming strange shifting patterns across its surface that intensified the longer he stared at it.

He needed to banish it from his mind, but he could not. Like an itch, the urge grew, built, and he could think of nothing else – yet he could not scratch it. Not unless… Legolas sighed, rolled over, and kicked at his blankets. They were heavy and constricting as if they meant to suffocate him in their velvety embrace. Even the very air in the room felt thick and cloying, and the elf closed his eyes and tried to take deep calming breaths while counting backwards, lips forming the unspoken words as he tried to take his mind off the urge.

Soon he could endure it no longer. The elf eased himself upright and quietly pushed the covers aside, already feeling some relief at the freedom from their plush confines. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Legolas paused for a moment before cautiously standing. He was expecting the wave of dizziness and pain that gripped him, and only wavered slightly as he gripped the bedpost while he breathed through it. Thankfully the episode was shortlived and he soon straightened, feeling pleased with himself. He took a tentative step forward, feeling the bite of cold stone against his bare feet. Passing a closet, Legolas paused thoughtfully to grab a cloak which he fastened around his neck before moving on.

A loud snort startled the elf, and he glanced quickly at Aragorn in time to see the Ranger shift in his sleep, inadvertently throwing off his blanket. Legolas felt his heartbeat quicken as the human mumbled something and began to grope for the covers, whimpering in obvious pain as he did so. Feeling sympathy for his friend and also worrying that he would wake, Legolas awkwardly crouched and put a comforting hand on the Ranger's brow, then used his free hand to retrieve the blanket and settle it over the human before soothing him back to a deep sleep. Once he was sure that Aragorn would not wake, the elf continued his cautious journey across the expanse of floor that separated him from his goal.

Finally, he reached his destination. He placed both hands on the old stone windowsill and leaned on them while he caught his breath. The heavy wooden shutters were open and Legolas could not help but marvel at the view before him. Bathed in moonlight, the gardens stretched out below in a sea of soft silver and gentle indigo. Further out and as far as the eye could see, scatterings of trees converged into a single mass of midnight blue as Mirkwood crept ever closer to the walls.

Legolas closed his eyes and leaned out a little, letting the gentle breeze caress his skin and play softly with his hair, sending the pale gold strands floating lazily about his face. Ignoring the lingering pain in his abdomen, Legolas inhaled deeply, savouring the bouquet of scents carried in the night. The sweetness of young, dewy grass and flowering clover mingled with the earthy notes of oak and beech. A nearby cricket began to chirp, its song rising to join the cacophony of others, all unified into one single voice. Legolas exhaled slowly and opened his eyes. He had lived his entire life here in Mirkwood, yet he remained in awe of her beauty. Though darkness sought to claim her, nature always fought back, and it was nights like this that made sure he never forgot that.

Steeling himself, Legolas pushed more of his weight into his arms. His wound protested and he felt the stitches pulling. Grimacing, the elf shifted before swinging a leg onto the windowsill. Immediately he let out a soft gasp as the pain stole his breath, then chiding himself, he quickly checked Aragorn. The human stirred lightly and Legolas held his breath – but the Ranger did not wake and so the elf gritted his teeth and quickly climbed the rest of the way onto the smooth stone ledge.

After resting a moment, Legolas scooted over to the edge and carefully let his legs drop over, stretching them out until his toes hit tree bark. The elf smiled – this particular tree had been his saviour on many occasions when he daren't risk using one of the palace doors. With a last glance at the Ranger's slumbering form, Legolas dropped somewhat stiffly from the ledge and landed on the branch below. Pleased, he slid gingerly down the rough trunk and into the thick cushion of grass at the foot of the tree. The window was not overly far from the ground, yet the exertion had left him breathless and in more pain than he would have liked to admit. He needed to rest a while, and lowered himself to sit among the knotted roots and dewy softness, uncaring about the dampness that seeped into his leggings. The tree, a thick and gnarly old pine, shook its leaves in reprieve at the fugitive and dropped several pine needles onto the elf's head. Legolas laughed merrily and brushed them away, patting the trunk fondly and smiling as he allowed himself to relax and simply appreciate the beauty around him.

Presently Legolas began to shiver as the chill and damp affected him. He frowned in annoyance, knowing that it was due to his weakened state. The tree, sensing his discomfort, rumbled softly – but Legolas waved away the being's concern as he grabbed a low knot in the bark and pulled himself to his feet. He had an idea and gathered his strength before starting to walk. His steps were laboured and heavy and he had to pause every few feet to catch his breath, but eventually he reached it.

A tall willow grew on the grassy slope, fed by one of the many mountain streams that bubbled and sang their way through the gardens. Legolas stepped over the spongey waterside grass and picked his way across the stones that broke the surface to form a crude pathway. He almost slipped on an unexpected slime-covered rock, but recovered and made it to the willow. Body aching, Legolas parted the cascading foliage before stumbling to the tree's wide base and collapsing upon the smooth slab of stone that lay on the ground there. It had been fashioned into a simple bench, but instead of a back support, the stone had been curved to hug the smooth trunk of the willow.

Legolas leaned back against the tree, letting out a heavy sigh – yet also deriving satisfaction from the fact that he had successfully gotten to this place. It was probably his favourite place in all the gardens. The long, delicate willow branches hung down in a shielding curtain all around the tree, creating a magical, sacred world that was sheltered from the outside. The only sound within the sanctuary was the gentle ripple of flowing water, a melody that never failed to soothe the elf – and now was no exception. Legolas felt his eyes grow heavy and he was soon lulled into a deep sleep.

* * *

Legolas awoke with a start, letting out a groan and cradling his arm to his chest after the sudden involuntary movement. He was unsure how much time had passed, but something had definitely woken him. Some noise had pierced his refuge within the willow, but he did not get time to figure out what.

"Legolas?" Ah, that would be Aragorn. The Ranger was close. Legolas opened his mouth to call out to the human, but before he could do so, there was a splash followed by a pained moan and a string of curses.

Legolas's eyebrows shot up and he darted from his hideout with a speed he did not realise he could muster. The human lay in a heap midway across the stream. Ragged breaths tore at his chest as he tried to push himself up, and he did not even see the concerned elf as he scrabbled vainly, his limbs trying to find purchase on the slippery rocks. His many wounds were holding him back though, and just as he gave up, cursing miserably and shivering, he felt a pair of strong hands grasp him and haul him onto the bank.

"Legolas?" The human's teeth were chattering as he stared wide-eyed at the elf. He could see that his friend was in pain and started to speak, but Legolas hushed him and frowned.

"Estel, why are you out here in such condition?" The human did his best at a smirk, but the effect was ruined by the chattering of his teeth.

"The same could be… said of you!"

"Nay, Aragorn!" Worry shone clearly in Legolas's blue eyes. He started to pat the human over, finding no bleeding and not being able to prevent the relieved sigh that escaped him. "You are mortal and your wounds are slower to heal than mine. I merely wished to get some fresh air – I assure you, I am able… Mostly! Estel, stop looking at me like that; I am serious!" Aragorn shook his head and huffed grumpily before getting his legs under him and rising to hands and knees. "Estel, what are you - ?" Legolas dodged as the Ranger grabbed at him.

"Getting _you_ back to the healing wing!" Aragorn clenched his jaw and staggered to his feet, doing his best to bite back the agonized grunt that wished to make itself heard. He stood triumphantly for a few seconds before swaying dramatically, his face paling. Before he could fall, Legolas had wrapped an arm around him.

"Estel, come – I have an idea."

"No, the healing wing is _that_ way!"

"Oh give up already, you cannot go anywhere in your condition, and I fear that I have used the last of my strength in pulling a scruffy human from the river."

"If you had not – "

"Hush." Legolas gently steered the Ranger through the veil of willow leaves and helped him to sit on the stone, and then he too sat.

Bending stiffly and again quelling the human's protests, Legolas lifted his friend's legs and placed them flat along the stone to aid in preventing the Ranger's calf from swelling further. Aragorn was now lying stretched out on the bench, his back pressed lightly against Legolas's shoulder. He was still shivering, and the elf could feel the wetness of the human's shirt as it soaked into his own. Aragorn tried to look nonchalant as he hugged his arms to his chest in order to conserve heat.

"Estel, here." Legolas shrugged off his cloak and tried to drape it over the Ranger, but the human balked.

"Legolas, I am – "

"You are being absurd, Aragorn. I can see how you shiver." At this, the human looked self-conscious and tried to suppress the shaking, but Legolas continued firmly. "Let us start by getting that wet shirt off you – it is not a cold night, and you can use this." The elf held up the cloak once more. Aragorn made a face but sighed in a reluctant concession, allowing Legolas to help him remove the soaked garment.

The elf was glad that the human could not see his face, or he would surely have seen the look of sadness and worry there, for once the shirt came away, Legolas was reminded just how grievously his friend had been wounded in his defense. The elf's fingers strayed unconsciously to the sodden bandages that encircled the Ranger's side, and it was only when the human flinched away with a grunt of pain that the elf was startled from his thoughts.

"Estel, forgive me!" he exclaimed, "I did not mean to… "

"Nay, Legolas, all is well. You only surprised me." He let out a slight laugh, but it was strained and Legolas sighed, quickly tucking the cloak around his friend. Aragorn murmured his thanks and relaxed against the elf, his shivering soon abating.

The pair remained like this for a while, until Legolas spoke.

"Estel, how did you get down here? Surely you could not have..."

"The door, Legolas. I used the door. They exist, you know." Aragorn chuckled.

"But it was locked; I saw Lanthir lock it myself!" Legolas could not mask his confusion. Aragorn snorted, reached into his pocket, and produced a small metallic object which Legolas could not quite make out. "You… picked it?"

"Naturally." Aragorn looked smug.

"Ah, Estel, I should not even have asked. Nor will I enquire as to how you came to possess whatever that is in the first place."

"Second cupboard on the right, third drawer. Never forget how well I know that room." Legolas groaned and rolled his eyes in the dark.

"Would never dream of it."

"Legolas?" It was Aragorn who broke the silence this time. The elf raised his head from where it had begun nodding towards his chest. "Please do not do that to me ever again." The Ranger's voice was soft and Legolas knew that the human spoke of more than the elf's escape from the healing wing. He let out a soft, amused huff before answering.

"I promise I will try." Aragorn hummed lightly in agreement and Legolas could see the smile on his face without looking.

"Legolas." The Ranger blinked against the heavy pull of sleep. He needed to get Legolas back to the healing wing before they risked being found there in the morning. Aragorn heard nothing by way of a reply – only the soft, even breathing of his friend. He turned to see the elf fast asleep, head bowed and eyes shut. "Ah, Legolas…" The human felt affection well in his cheat as he shifted the elf into a more comfortable position and laid back again. Legolas mumbled something incoherent and snuggled into the soft curve between the Ranger's shoulder and neck, sighing contentedly and then continuing to sleep. _Just a little longer, then,_ Aragorn told himself, and then promptly fell asleep.

* * *

Thranduil's robes swished as he rounded a corner and resumed striding purposely across the lawn. The frown on his face would have rivalled that of the Lord of Imladris, and rightfully so, for the Elvenking had awoken to a frantic Lanthir and a missing Legolas. The grass was soft and springy between his bare toes (for he had been in quite a hurry), and the rays of morning sunlight fell in magnificent foggy shards over the trees, but all was lost on the elf as he searched for his son. He had been all over the gardens and was on the verge of sending a search party into the forest if Legolas was not found soon – when something occurred to him. A brief memory of a little elfling playing beneath a tall willow. Maybe, just maybe… Thranduil gasped and, uncaring of who might see, turned and ran barefoot through the gardens.

By the time he neared it, Thranduil was breathing quite heavily. Pausing to gather himself, the Elvenking glared at the old pine tree that watched over the healing wing, seeing the tree visibly rustle in embarrassment. Despite the being having no doubt facilitated his escape, Legolas was not up in its branches though, and Thranduil continued on his way.

"Legolas?"

Thranduil soon reached the stream and its rocky crossing, quickly and nimbly navigating the mossy stones. His fingertips brushed green leaves as he drew apart the curtains, and there he was – _his_ Green Leaf. Or rather, _them_. Legolas was draped over the Ranger, fast asleep and mouth slightly open. One hand hung over the side of the bench while the other was spread over the human's face. As Thranduil watched, Aragorn gave a soft snore and curled tighter around the sleeping elf, wrapping his arms around the prince and causing the cloak that had been covering them to shift, exposing the human's bandaged torso. Even in their compromised states, the pair looked so utterly _content_.

Despite himself, Thranduil smiled, and when at last he moved, it was to retrieve the cloak and gently cover them, before turning back towards the palace. He needed his slippers and he supposed they could sleep just a little longer before he alerted the healers.

**The End**


End file.
